Saturday, 24 September 2011

The street is quiet



I’m here. It’s a dark night, few pale stars are looking down at the glowing city, one of the windows down there is mine. The morning is close. Listening to songs in a foreign language, but I don’t really care, I just like the energy and sound of it. I know it’s about the truth, freedom and anger. I like it. Maybe I can start to think about reactivating my anarchist e-zin. I’m trying to find some new identities, but actually I’ve already got some I’m ok with. A truth-seeker, activist. I just have to go deeper.

Tss, tss, tss,
The street is quiet,
as quiet as my head,
as quiet as my heart
at least tonight,
my gorgeous.

When I try to wear
postmodernist suit
I look funny,
I look like a fool.
Better to taste real ideas,
get strength from pure values,
look inside,
where real peace lays.
At least this night,
my adorable girl.

The world out there
goes into pieces,
politicians, serious issues,
wars, false idols,
silly jokers in uniforms,
bad poetry, good intentions,
but I’m ok
at least for now,
my sweet darling.

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