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the SOUND of the WIND

the SOUND of the WIND Ella Ziegler

The moment of silence before the crying begins.

I try to write down the barking of a dog. I try to write down the crying of a man. I try to write down the sound of the wind.

The loud wailing and weeping of the women who were far from the grave at the funeral, was exaggerated and dramatic. Men in black suits follow the four men who carry the coffin to the grave. The stillness is accompanied by the loud, exaggerated weeping of the women standing away from the grave.

His tears erase the words as he writes.

After the undertaker rang the bell, the woman opened the door. She greets the undertaker, wipes the tears from her cheeks and apologises for her uncomposed state.

The prophet was sitting on the edge of the grave, crying until the ground was wet.

I often laugh and I like it. I often do not know why I laugh.

With the left pointing finger, she strokes a line from the corner of his eye down his cheek.

The star shines in the stream of tears when I look into the light.

His face changed suddenly. His chin and lower lip tremble.

Does the tree feel the snow? Does the soil feel the tears?

He laughs about her new glasses. She spits at him.

The mother wondered why the newborn baby did not cry.

It always starts with the same feeling in the throat.

The feud between the families started generations ago. One part of the family feels superior, the other inferior. The reason for the family feud is incomprehensible. The feelings of humiliation are passed on from one generation to the next.

He apologized for crying as his tears disappeared into his beard.

He gets sand out of the woman’s eyes with his little fingers.

With his left hand he grabs a stone and throws it at the girl’s head.

I approach an old woman standing on the pavement. She rummages in her white handbag. I pass her by and imagine her taking a pistol from her handbag and shooting me in the back.

I hear the woman’s sobs. I can’t see her tears because she is wearing a veil.

My grandmother lived with us until she died. After her death, my mother invited neighbours and friends to our house. Lots of people came. I watched them cry.

In the neighbourhood an old woman died, who was looked after for months by her daughter and family. After the death of the woman, the relatives and neighbours accept the grieving family’s invitation. The women present mourn the death of their neighbour, wailing loudly. The granddaughter of the deceased woman watches them.

His breast is humming. He cried without stopping until his beard was soaked.

The most difficult thing is to find words of farewell at the grave of a person who has neither friends nor relatives.

The crying woman drinks water.

At the police station he tried to soften up the policeman by crying loudly.

The boy watches the crying boy in the playground and says, “The boy is crying but he is not sad.”

The Arabic woman was flanked by her crying mother and grandmother when she was in labour. The pain of the labour was so great that the woman giving birth was not able to cry.

After he burst into tears the situation opened up into a discussion.

The tussle becomes an argument. Feet kick shins. Tears fill the eyes but do not flow.

He said that when a respected person of the community dies, everybody and everything cries. As he said this, he touched the table and the repaired plastic chair next to him.

The police arrested a young man because he was involved in a gang war. The man cries at the police station. He was very scared of being rejected by his family because his arrest brings great disgrace on his family.

After a long fight she starts crying. Her crying voice sounds like chanting.

The silent gazing touch of our views is unbearable.

A woman with two different eyes. I like one better than the other.

He cries as he plays the piano.

His laughing changes into crying and his crying changes into laughing. The sound of his voice changes imperceptibly.

The only way she shows weakness is with tears. The only way she shows power is with tears.

After the policeman rang the bell the shouting stopped. The loud word battle ended with the opening of the door. The shouting behind the door stopped as soon the door opened. As the door opened the cries behind the door suddenly ended.

If 50 year old men had to do military service, no one would have to do it.

The guerilla mainly recruits young men because they have nothing to lose – no wife or children.

At the funeral, the woman unexpectedly threw herself on the coffin of her deceased 28-year-old son and burst into tears. This moment of mourning seemed to last forever.

They say that tears protect your eyes from flames.

She draws white snowflakes on the white paper.

When the family watched a romantic film, the mother would always cry. Her sons would tease her for crying

The Arabic man told me he would never show tears. Not even to his wife.

The children wondered why the father’s voice trembled as he read to them and tears ran down his cheeks.

She expected to cry when her husband died but she didn’t.

A girl shows her boyfriend her grazes.

Nobody knows if he is crying because of Allah’s presence and grace or because of the sad verses.

While the young Imam, who recently started praying at the mosque, recites the verses from the Quran, his beautiful voice gets thinner and tears flow over his cheeks. He always tries to hide his tears because he knows the men feel distracted by his emotions.

The sleeping woman presses her eyes shut.

The crying child fell into an exhausted sleep.

During the Somali civil war, we fled with the whole family to Ethiopia. For my 90-year-old father, the flight was a great physical and emotional strain. We lived for a few months in a refugee camp in Mogadishu where my father died. During the preparations for my father’s funeral, three Ethiopian women asked me how much I would pay them to weep at the funeral.

As she sang tears flowed from the corners of her eyes drawing lines in her make-up.

The sharp edges of the newly cut fingernails leave red scratches on the light dry skin.

Because he lost his right hand, he took the stone in his left hand and threw it at the girl's head.

She laughs about his new haircut. He spits at her and laughs at her glasses.

The children wondered why the father’s voice trembled as he read to them and tears ran down his cheeks.

The dispute between the families started generations ago.

The sound of the wind Ella Ziegler  
The sound of the wind Ella Ziegler