noiembrie 2014

this city by night

how do you hurt when it hurts?
do you feel your hair falling?
your nails growing?
do you turn your face towards the sky when it rains?
and if no one’s there are you alone pressing your eyelids?
if somebody screams from a thousand miles away
do you see the place where the cry started?
are you the most silent of all?
how does it hurt when you cry?
the slammed doors hurt when you leave?
do you mourn the dead or the living?
what exactly are you reaching your arm for?
how does your pain feels like?
because I’m taking long walks through this city by night
buying some cigarettes
smoking them
knowing that this is how another day ends
without remorse, fury, despair
trying to figure out why so stunningly crowded and noisy all this nothingness is
all voices speaking at once
all bodies lusting their sleep
just lying there
like vegetables waiting their turn on the trencher
their place in the bowl
in their unbearable happiness
waiting for somebody else to breathe in their ears
in some other terrible mornings
how does it hurt?
‘cause I’m taking long walks
in this city
by night
buying some
smoking them



Ana a fost observată dintr-un autobuz în mişcare. De altfel, şi Ana era în mişcare, tocmai de aceea a şi fost observată. Pentru că avea un mers neobişnuit pentru provincie. În orăşelul ăla uitat de emancipare, ea mergea ca o cosmopolită. Nu se ştia de unde învăţase să meargă aşa. Când ploua mergea şi mai sigură pe sine. Fundul era şi mai bombat, gâtul încordat, capul semeţ. Tânără şi verticală. Continuă lectura „moaca”

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