In the not-so-dead zone
there are foxes, and mouflons (I imagine).
Slugs slithering at night, leaving behind them traces of silvery lines that glitter at day, under the one-and-only blazing sun.
Ants digging holes, crows flying around, bees buzzing and dancing to the music of moving trees visiting flowers with more vibrant colours than here or there,
flowers bursting out of soils spilled with blood and tears, hope and fears.
Ophrys kotschyi, Cyclamen Cyprium, Tulipa Cypria.
In the not-so-dead zone there must be tarantulas (I imagine).
In the not-so-dead zone
there is also a cat. A cat that has two feline lovers: one there, one here.
His wife lives in between.
That’s good for our feline friend: the wife will never know as she never dared to cross.
‘Why leave this human-less, car-less paradise where the Queen is Your-Majesty-Nature? Anyhow, whatever happens there or there-there does not affect here.’
Besides, she knew that curiosity and crossings can kill the cat.
As is playing with fire or tearing down flags.
It did happen before, she’s seen it. It may happen again, she imagines.
This unreal country 