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The Day After... 

The Anti-Anarchism Ant


by Sameer Khraishi, Ramallah

I’ve sailed my ship from Baudelaire own poems to Socrates own thoughts.
But we forgot what we've learnt back at our planet, we were children when our Shaman taught us the art of magic before crying, the art of healing before critics, the art of flying before walking, but we forgot because we've been living on planet earth for so long that its gravity kept us down, make us go older instead of going younger.
Do you remember;
When we ate rainbows at breakfast?
When we milked clouds for a holy drink of water?
When we built dreams for helpless insects?
And when the land smiles it flourishes with mums?
"But, the Ministry of memory won’t be existing if we do remember, it won’t seize the opportunity to confiscate our remaining memories of who/what we are." The Sudanese Camels merchant whispered in my ear.

His name was Sarjoon, he roams the purple desert with a herd of white camels, trading his beloved camels for space marbles, and the camels agreed. He said he had seen wonders no human eye can bear, spectrum of light our mundane brain cannot process, I told him it’s a pity I cannot see, he said just look and you will see. He mentioned holy frequencies lifting up all the green Rocky Mountains of his desert, I told him it’s a pity I cannot hear, he said just dream of your mother's womb and listen. He kissed my shoulder and vanishes between sand hills.
Seven centuries later, I joined an army of ants and swore my allegiance for their superior cause; The holy cause of dust. We roamed earth collecting all the dust grains and keep it safe from the Plastic yellow army, yes it was yellow and they were all bold but hair eaters! Zihoor is the leader of the Ant army, she holds a shining sword of straw, an oak leaf at her shoulders, and a helmet of diamonds. Zihoor approaches the leader of the yellow army hoping to negotiate the release of 27 dust grains held prisoners in the Plastic yellow army, his name was Mikhail Bakunin.
As she approaches he chews a quiff of hair, "Release the dust grains NOW" she shouted out in pride. He swallows the hair and response: "Liberty without Socialism is Privilege, Injustice; Socialism without Liberty is Slavery and Brutality".
Zihoor touched the ground beneath her, the earth's heat was forming under her feet, the sky became
white above her, she stood up and said: " but a beautiful woman is playing a flute in the valley and a
homeless man is dancing on the mountain, Release the grains NOW ".
Bakunin understands the conclusion of things, he loves Hegel, he met all the great philosophers of
earth, in a wink of thunder, he is enlightened and blessed, he decides to release the 27 grains.
Zihoor ordered us to build a silo around Bakunin, so we did, 13 years after, he found Anarchism.


While a lonely tear fell on the empty page of my book, before I raised up my heavy head, and before
my notoriety has failed to lift me up of my meaningless anonymity,
An ancient wise gypsy lady appeared in the corner of my hexagon room, and prayed:


"El que se tenga por grande,
que se vaya al cementerio,
y verá lo que es el mundo,
es un palmo de terreno."

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