Yesterday, although I rarely see dreams,
I saw a very long dream, about our small neighbourhood,
everyone was at the present time, with bodies of the present, the cruelty of the present
but me, a child with all what in me,
little, stupid, surprised, but see everyone.
My mother was in every detail of the dream, but I was not seeing her,
during the very long dream, I have not seen my mother,
just heard her voice,
all those in the dream were seeing her, calling her name, speaking with her, except me, did not see her.
She died, in my memory, as if she had died, or lost her form,
or perhaps because of my intensity yearning for her, I did not dare to see her,
I do not know,
I did not cry during the whole dream,
when I woke up, I did.
so I knew that inside me there was a cold killer, growing up, little by little.
And when leaving
We know how to bury a bundle of tears in the heart of someone we love,
how to leave the smell of our grief, as a promised tooth, a scalp of a dream that we mercifully killed.
how the years’ scabies feeds on our souls,
while we cram our bodies in the corners, waiting for nothing.
How we jumped from the top of the mountains, flew with a flock of crows, then landed on a body cliff.
How we sent all this ancient legacy, pain legacy, with bored.
How people become just a chaotic sounds in the memory symphony.
and how all faces escape from us.
How we planed a sapling of sorrow in the heart soil, grows very slowly, irrigated with some music, some amazement, then stolen by a false smile.
How we killed our parents with the simplicity,
the same simplicity which the path closed with it, the last cemetery of passion.
how we shed our mothers from our smallest capillaries and how we,
– Shall we go !!
– we go, become a dark gold without a glitter, a silver anklet in a foot that eaten by gangrene.
– Have we happened yet?
-No, we still happening, every day, as long as we have a heart trembling, an eyelid shuddering, we still happening,
once we die, we will have happened.
– the colour !!
I mean the favourite during the sunset, for you
– Drowning colour,
at twilight, all the waters have the drowning colour *,
a silent burial in an orange mingled with a fatigue blueness.
– The colour of your joy during the sun funeral.
– Then let’s die today, just for some time.
– Are you crazy? no.
– We die a bit, change the taste of bereavement.
– Change the routine of our pulse.
– No, no
– Please let’s do it, I will just hug you with our eyes closed.
– Promise !!
– Promise !!
– Then they say about us “we have happened”
– Agreed, let’s die too long.
* The sentence in the text “Water is all in the colour of drowning” is a title of a book written by Emil Cioran.