I see it there, under the round wooden table,
on the parquet floor, an injured mosquito,
spending its last strength
to fly again,
to perhaps live on for a few more hours.
Yes,
to go on living,
that is the only commandment for the wounded mosquito.
And I,
I am not a mosquito.
I,
I want to live.
But this,
language cannot describe.
Or could it,
if we were to set it free
Free it from us,
by freeing ourselves from the things
that keep us from flying,
things
that, in turn,
can only be described through language.
Aram Ruhi Ahangarani, 30.3.2014