SAND PEOPLE

The sun is hot as a despicable orange. The bodies are half naked. Souls are afraid of the closeness of the bodies. The music thunders and mutes the conscience. Babies cry and ask to bring them back. The sun shines angrily and does not want to forgive.

The sun is hot as angry despicable orange and does not want to forgive. The shells on the sand get stuck in the feet. Bodies bleed because of the intimacy. Souls are far from each other. The sun bakes to death and heats the starry dust in our bodies. The sand sticks to our hearts. Babies cry and refuse to accept the pain as part of life.

You are the lonely man who seeks his beloved. In every next body you see your ideal. Nudity is like an invitation for the last dance that puts your senses to sleep and makes you vulnerable. Every ideal of yours falls apart like sand in the salt water. But you do not give up. You want to hide from the loneliness in the nakedness of the next body. You seek to hide in the illusion of the moment, in the uncertainty of the beauty that will dissolve in the seawater.

I am like a seagull that does not want to land on the sharp rocks because it will lose its freedom. I am like a seagull that is at a meeting with the sun. I am not your ideal. Because I am not a beautiful naked body.

Your new body ideal has red lipstick that leaves a mark on your neck, but not in your heart. Your new ideal is tempting as a despicable fig that prompts you to taste it quickly because its time is counted. You are surrounded by naked ideals, but this is no longer a tempting challenge because you get used to the beauty so quickly. The beauty keeps you entertained, but it does not lift you. The beauty of the naked bodies makes you feel tired and so lonely.

The lifeguard on the beach is trying to save the bodies that break up like sand in the seawater. But the savior of the beach cannot save our souls. He only sees our bodies. Just like you who stay without ideal after each victory. But you are not a hero, because these are easy victories.

I have spread wings ready for the meeting with the sun. I do not have a red nail polish. Neither my lips are colored with a seductive red lipstick. My freedom has neither color nor form.

The sand is covered with shells and sin. The music thunders. The bodies move like intoxicated in the rhythm. The bodies touch and then break down like sand in the seawater. The temptation is what kills their integrity. Because they do not need their power, but easy victories and forgetfulness. The salty water washes away the sin and gives hope for a new beginning.

The souls of the sand people circle high like seagulls that have come to a new understanding of life. They fly over the beach and their shouts are like trying to prevent and protect the bodies from the sin. The screams of the seagulls are like a warning to keep our hearts whole.

I am at a meeting with the sun. Water is a place where the life was born. The water is life. It covers the sand people with itself and brings them back to life. It forgives the sin of the bodies. It cleans the hearts from the sand and prepares them for a new beginning after death.

This time she has black hair. Your ideal runs after you on the sand. But you are chasing me. You chase the seagulls on the sand, and their flight is like a crazy call for freedom. Your dream is with black hair. She runs after you, she looks for your body to hide from the loneliness. But you are already a seagull. Released from the sand, ready to meet the sun. The lifeguard of the beach has already thrown the life belt. Is it not too late for souls to be saved?

Let me share your pain, sand man. Allow me to share the pain of your choice, of your fatigue and loneliness. Let me teach you to see the freedom.

On the horizon the sun sets like a despicable tomato. And the canvas of the ship looks like a waving white sails that tells the world that another virginity is lost in the battle to achieve the ideal. Because the heart is full of secrets from which we try to hide. The innocence is the one that is so difficult to achieve.

And love walks bare on the beach and begs the seagulls for forgiveness.

(Elena S. Lyubenova)