second column for Kazin

Just the smoke of the London fireworks, I could see.
Further, there was hope.



I had written on a paper something.
At one point I realized-- that was the moment, I was entering a new year. That was the moment. I took my lighter. The wind, however, was blowing against me. And the paper was trying to escape, with my message, from my fingers. No. I had to be strong, determined. Lighter, again. The flame still was just a silly sparkle, I could see it, derisive, reflecting its evil smile in her eyes. She was in front of me, struggling with her tiny frozen hands to keep that whisper of fire alive. Then, as suddenly touched by a genius she turns towards the human ocean that was surrounding and embracing us; a weird ocean which we belong to and of which we could see not the end.
Just people and people. And people.
And she, sudden, she turns towards another drop of that ocean and she asks: “may I have your lighter for a moment, please?”
The guys looked at her doubtful, then one said of course lady, but he kept staring at us.
He looked eastern European, big stature, hard sculpted face. A perfect quadratic smile.

She smiles, of one of that smiles that open up your heart as that solitaire red roses in winter.
With her emerging from it the ocean tasted only of snow pierced in red.

My paper finally burn, so does hers. Our bad things of the past year are smoking up in the cold sky.
The guy gets back his lighter. I briefly look him again and I can’t help not seeing the images of that dissidents and soldiers that are still having battles in the not forgiven forgotten Chechnya.

I turn around and I leave my sight fly upon this ocean of flesh, of persons, of stories.
Some are smiling, some are drunk, some are happy, some are stoned. But some, some are special.
In them I read the end of a 2006 that had been hard, had been rush in its cruelty.
I see a Nepali, I see a guy from Waziristan and one from Balucistan hand in hand dancing for the victory upon war. They represent the gift of this 2006 peace progress.
Just in front of them, though, stands a beautiful girl who is amusing everyone with her belly dancing. Few girls have the same nobility of movements. But look at her, her face is wrapped in tears. She comes from Lebanon, where the characterizing conflict of the year took place.
I see two guys who are deeply attracted by her, however they are screaming at her witch, bitch. Their feet are linked with a chain, one come from the States the other one from Israel.
I can’t help a bitter smile.
There is a group of crazy people just behind her, I might belong to them.
They are playing like mad ones darbukas, and singing “viva viva Palestina”.
All of them clapping hands, all of them beating feet on the asphalt, all of them shaking bodies.
The faint hope after the disengagement of the settlements has now degenerated into a potential civil war, but only a far away voice seems remembering it. This old Italian song is cradling the spirits……I can only hear oh bella ciao, ciao, ciao.
Maybe it is a reminder of some guerillia for peace.
On the right of this Pandora mixture vase I see two Iraqi embracing each other, they are crying…not in the hanging of Saddam the Sunni and Shiia found a resolution.

I climb a pole and from up there the crowd shows its immensity. Just a bit further from that group there is another bizarre one, everyone is celebrating this new year. Will this 2007 give some rest to Afghanistan, raped and left in its cul-de-sac by the Nato? Will this 2007 leave Kashmir less wounded? Will Japan, China and Taiwan look at North Chorea in a more friendly way than the atomic one?

These questions are making me loose the equilibrium-- suddenly I feel my force vanishing.
I am falling down. And down. And around. And all that flashy ocean seems ready to eat me, all its wave just ready to suffocate me. I can just scream for help and wait for the crash.
And, surprise, the crash doesn’t come, I just see shots of movies.
They belong to the tragedy of Africa, they belong to the new hope of South America.
And I will only continue to fall inside this tunnel.
Don’t be afraid, she says while grabbing my hand, just dance with me towards light.

author: cecilia anesi