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Fly

Perfumed air, muted piano from another room

A crimson mug with sizzling chamomile and me

Indulging in the sweet morning of Spring.

As I absorbed the printed words that spoke of truth and beauty

and bathed in delightful serenity,

A fly swam by my vision's horizon.


It was like a salient stain,

a malodorous intruder in this room -

Its buzz, the eerie death bell that froze the hot air

Its ugly brown wings, the murky fermented deposit

And its eyes - reddened, bloodshot

- were not dissimilar to those of a murderous beast.

Annoyance turned into nausea

Then evolved into a bone-deep, unalterable horror -

Wide-eyed and gritting my teeth, I stared

At the fly, like it was my worst enemy in life.


I seized the chance when the fly napped on the window,

like an archer aiming for the heart, I struck -

But the fly got away, disoriented from what was at most

A shock,

Its triumph was my humiliation.

Burning with rage, I struck again.

Twice, thrice, each time my power receded somehow...

And the fly always found a way to escape.

At that moment I knew

I didn't want to kill it anymore, and killing it was never my intention.

I opened the window as fast as I could

and the fly disappeared into the horizon.


Earth-shattering, my heart pounded sonorous and fast

As guilt darkened the sky and shadowed my eyes.

I was again horrified, but not by the fly

But by my blind rage that almost led to a murder.

What did the fly do

except innocently stumble into my room?

What harm did the fly cause, what great malevolent sins

did it commit

To deserve my hostility?

It was just trying to survive,

but I couldn't even accept that.


The fire of my guilt consumes me.

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