His palms carrying tree barks
And rusty nail holes
‘O forks,’ he calls his hands extending their fingers
His voice sounds like the water rushing from under the rocks
For he is mistaking his face for a ready-made dish
The much desired dish
Two olives – two eyes
One meat ball – one nose
Two steaks – two cheeks
Two livers – two lips
Two peppers – two ears
Delicious gruyere – hope
‘Who is eating my face from the dish?’
‘Why are you eating it all alone?’ yells the prisoner
Opening, scratching his mouth in his cell – the asthmatic throat
He is expecting to satiate his hunger with stretched macaroni rays
Yet he comes up with another crazy fantasy
Early one morning
He will hang himself
On the bars of his cell
Using one of these extended ropes
Of macaroni rays
Hamdi Meça
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