A cigarette ends the narration

I am a metamorphosis, 

A corpse rolling on grain of sand  

I am a white thin line  

Where the depression starts from it  

I am the last lock of hair  

In the head of man,  

  

Man,   

There is a talkative man   

Sits at the end of the tree   

His feet are wide open   

The butterflies eat his eyes. 

And there is a little girl   

Sits in the beginning of the tree   

She annexed her feet   

Eyes,   

Hands,   

And braids,   

Then turned into an apple   

An apple eaten by crows.   

Crows,   

Crows turned their eyes   

Where the corpses' guard sits,  

He smokes   

And shouts:   

We cannot walk above sea   

Either run above sky   

We are trapped between two blues,   

Which become tight slowly   

Until we get out of it   

Like a spit of kid   

Landing on a pile of ants,   

    

Ants,   

I have no word to talk about ants,   

I am tired   

Bored,   

Isolated,   

I walked to the corpses' guard   

Wanted to hold him,   

I need his hands to free crows and butterflies   

And to put roses in every ant's mouth   

   

I looked at him,   

From his cigarette come out white lines   

One line got into my eyes   

Blinded me   

And it was the same line,   

Where the depression ends.

Artwork by: Keyvan Mahjoor