Werke von Baktash Sarang

Here all the doors are numbered.
Aisles are long, cold and dark.
The official ceremony will be held in the big room;
The Funeral of the nameless coffin.
Here the silence is heavy, and only a murmur can be heard…
The uniforms are neat and clean and in the darkness of the room; they become more black and obscure.

Everyone is waiting for the enchanting and lascivious woman to say something.
They say that she is the angel of justice;
She doesn’t have the scale anymore.
Maybe she never had one.
People say the scale doesn’t work; it is made from stone.
The men in uniform are happy;
This could be understood from the seriousness of their faces.

The enchanting woman doesn’t say a word.
She only shows her lascivious breast.
Her attracting eyes are not covered anymore;
The men in uniform have banded her blind on the eyes of the mother
Mother doesn’t say anything.
She only murmurs.
She took refuge in the Book
She only murmurs
An unmeaning murmur
Maybe she is talking to herself
Maybe she is praying
Her murmurs are tormenting
Continuous and nipping
Only if they had bound the blind on her mouth
To help us not hear the murmurs

It is said that her stare is more grave and dangerous

The angel of justice doesn’t say anything
As if she is without the tongue
People say, that one night
The butchers, in a distant desert,
Have cut her tongue and through it for the dogs;
And from that night, the dogs bark in the night.

She doesn’t say anything
She just caresses her breast and throws lascivious glances
They say she breast feed all the uniformed men of the world and makes love to them every night
And they tell her their stories instead
It is said that they are her illegitimate sons -even though she doesn’t have any legitimate ones- 

This ceremony is held every week, afternoon, from five to eight
Even if there would be no corpse in the coffin

In silence and in lust …
The Whoredom of the angel …
She may find a new costumer for the night.

Public observe the ceremony in silence and respect…

It is only the commander who beats on his triangle at the end of the ceremony
Mother doesn’t murmur anymore
Only her lips are moving
She has taken refuge in the book

The coffin remains where it was;
White and empty.


Baktash Sarang