It’s my brothers birthday tomorrow. And as the days have passed I thought of him often and wished – but what does it actually matter now! – that I had taken more time to prepare something special, you know, like, let’s say buy a donkey or a cow for his little backyard, write a song for him and play it in the streets in front of millions of people during Covid times, or at least write a proper letter to him.
So it’s my brothers birthday tomorrow, and up here in the snowy streets I couldn’t find a thing I wanted to get for him other than a thin layer of birch skin that I peeled off to see its many layers in different color.
So it’s my brothers birthday tomorrow. And as I am writing this I am nervous because I won’t be able to see him, touch him, celebrate him as the human being he is with all the struggles and beauties and kids and wife and friends and sometimes family when he wants to and all this playing around in foolish laughter and all that jazz.
You know, when he was little and I was little too, him and I would walk hand in hand, at least that’s what they say. It’s about 27 years ago now and we are getting old brother.
So I’ll have a drink on you tomorrow, sit in the cold and have a sip of Rakhi Turkish style just to celebrate my heart beating for you.
Because sometimes, when I shovel space around it there is this picture of you laughing and it expands and expands and fills up with such love for you, brother, I cannot describe. Maybe you know. Maybe you don’t. But let’s talk about it on the phone when I sing for you a little birthday song if you want me to. And if you don’t, I don’t mind, I’m gonna do it anyways.
So that’s it. My first kiss to the air is going to reach you soon to be 30.
With such love.