Two Stories

By - Jan 19, 2018



Victor, the ship, moves with his nose forward, the upward side of him in the shape of a pumpkin.
     When he starts to sink, people in him make an exodus, their bodies pushing, jumping, making every effort to get the hell out of him.




I stand high and try to touch the nose of a sculpture named after a victor. I imagine him alive, before my time, holding his tablet, with his legs crossed. His declarations that brought peace to my country.
     I touch his shoe, noticing a dark spot.
     After he was shot, his procession travelled through this city. I imagine stepping where he may have stepped.
     I turn to look at a tiny pond, with foliage sprouting out of it.
     I take an exodus and run back home to carve my fairytail pumpkin for a party that starts at midnight.