mercoledì 17 settembre 2014

Sensations walking trough Gezi Park

I walk trough Gezi Park, put down the backpack, lay down, my mind lost in thousands images and thoughts and a sensations vortex that this park turkish resistance emblematic image lead to,
7 maximum 8 years you could be, more or less, your feet are such small, just raised to walk, plastic flip flop worned out by the fatigue, you go and go, forward and backward, again and again, trough the park, with your small harms holding a water bottles box on your shoulders, box that is almost heaviest of your small body a bit bigger of my backpack,
a black gaze, turned off, down, you go forward and backward, step by step, without stop, without rest, you are shouting something in your language that seems to me like ‘oxige’, ‘oxige’, I like to think that’s your way to seek to that unfair world lost on the money your breath, this time that with already different shoes pairs for the different day time in the wardrobe easy totally forget of those black small feet on small black flip flop,
you keep on and keep on, don’t rest, don’t stop, forward and backward, again and again, keep on your day rhytmed by your voice, ‘oxige, ‘oxige’ I walk on the park behind you, I look you and in my mind I follow you with an own silent shout, the just one word I know in your language that I’d like shout this morning in this square in the strongest way I know looking to you: DIREN,
I’d like to shout it, as much strong as possible, diren, resist, I’d like to shout yah! to you and for you, strong as your small harms are, to you and your too many ‘colleagues’, I’d like to walk on this city shouting as strong as I can, diren guys, diren, diren guys, diren, And you go and keep on forward and backward on the park, without resting, keep on and keep on, going repeating your selling shout, ‘oxige’,
I keep on walking on the park immersed on a sea of sensations, images and emotions, I have look that green area, that square, such big on my feet, the building such ugly all around me, the cement blocks, and the exploited area surrounding,
I have look that threes, that square, that park and I think to your brothers and sisters, in their twenties that were here shouting their freedom and democracy shout, that diren teaching the world what really means resist, taking a population on the squares, families and people of any different social ages, backgrounds and beliefs, challenging a brutal repression,
I look you and I such would like to have been there in that may, here with them to shout also for you and your colleagues without age, without rights, without maybe dreams, that DIREN,
You’re for me, small big man, the image of the greatness determination of that country, you go and go, you don’t stop, too small for that big bottles box you carry on your shoulders crossed by your little harms, but a bigger man than many suited people on the cities on the other side of the Mediterranean sea, what beauty you convey, you don’t stop, carry on, repeating your shout, oxige, oxige, su, su, and me with you with our diren, and we for you will keep on repeating in our different languages our ‘diren’, and so fighting and dreaming with you and for you and all your too young ‘colleagues’, dreaming another world, diren.. diren…
I look you and I’d like so much speak your language, I’d like have a chat with you, to get to know you, to bring your voice on the other side of the sea, where too many people waste so easy that small water bottles, where too many walk trough boutiques with already three shoes for different occasions and so remember them how you walk in your black small flip flop, worned out by the working fatigue but more beautiful and alive of their shining shoes, black just for the elegance, that maybe are made by one of your friend, your flip flop that goes and goes beyond everything, again and again, forward and backward trough the square repeating your shout, resisting, and your voice that don’t rest with his shout, oxige,
also for you we should even more stronger fight, dreaming shouting our diren, our resist, even more for your stolen dreams cutted down from this world that remember your country just on the hidden etiquette of a shirt in our shining shopping streets, for your small age spent walking all the day with this boxes on the shoulder, for that shout that for me sounds as oxige that I’d like to think is your way to seek the world your oxygen, I follow your pass, I look you on this emblematic park, I see an elderly man resting on a side of the park, he strong hold a rosary beads in his hands, turned off gaze, showing the fatigue of who worked an entire life resisting, as closed in his resignation, I look his hands holding that rosary beads, this resignation, this elderly man, you and your colleagues working, your gazes, how they such remind me many of my mother land, thinking to that resignation, to that rosary beads of this elderly man that spent a life resisting and you that start your resisting life already from your young age I think to this ‘thanks to god’ that kills many population taking off their future from their hands, I think to this Mediterranean link, I remember all the stories heard by your twenties cocitizen,
I remember all the images they bring to me of this park resistance, I follow you and keep on shouting even stronger than yesterday my personal diren, I met hasan the day after, I look his gaze how passionated is while he talks to me of the resistance of his country, I’m pretty sure the future is yours small big man, diren guys… every wall can be beaten, all the rosary beads can be broke up.. yours is the future.. DIREN TURKISH GUYS DIREN... DIREN..

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