On the net,
roles are carved into code,
assigned at birth like silent scripts.
We log in and wear them,
same masks, same names,
as if destiny were HTML.
A French woman who lives in Germany
returns to France on the Internet.
A Kurdish person speaks Kurdish online,
where no border cuts the tongue.
But real life is bad,
so heavy one wishes to be dead.
A Kurdish person speaks Turkish to survive,
a Syrian Kurd gets called a Turk,
or just a Syrian.
An African calls a Kurd an African,
as if names could be shuffled
like cheap cards on a broken table.
Out there,
under daylight’s stare,
people stagger in costumes not their own,
actors in borrowed skins,
voices rehearsed,
eyes betraying the lie.
Online we breathe our true selves,
speak our own languages,
live without disguise.
Offline we are prisoners,
forced to play roles
that were never ours.
Between the two,
the self clings to the screen,
choosing the only stage
that will not collapse beneath it.