Racconti e poesie


He wears a military uniform
Sitting legs stretched
In a protected bunker

His sharp eyes spy
Glued to the screen
Only the flickering green light
Lights the room

His hand
Does not shake
Does not sweat
He is trained
He is skilled at video games
He has won many competitions

He knows when to shoot the target
He gets points
He is a hero

His gaze falls on
Moving shadows
These silhouettes walk
But he can’t hear their footsteps

They breathe
But he can’t hear their breath
They talk
But there are no voices

He can’t see
The white bearded grandfather
Carrying his thousand wishes
And sweetest joys
Folded in the geography
Of his expression

He can’t see
The young farmer’s
Silky hair covering his upper lips
And the glint of spring dreams
Moulding his smile

He can’t see
Lively cheerful children kicking the ball in the yard
He can’t see
The woman’s hands frying onions

His thumb is impatient
He presses the button on the joystick
A violent blast
Scatters roofs, tiny arms
Turbans beds goats
To bury them under rubble

No sound in the room
His shift is over

He drives home in a black GMC pick up
The local radio station babbles
The weather forecast
The latest sport
And the top Oscar nominee



Shirin Ramzanali Fazel