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poetry_fictionDay 8:
And I said to myself: that's true, hope needs to be
like barbed wire to keep out despair,
hope must be a mine field.
Day 9:
Here they sit and there they walk
Here they hate and there they love.
Day 10:
Sometimes I come crashing down inside myself
without anyone noticing. I'm like an ambulance
on two legs
Day 11:
And his soul is seasoned, his soul
is very professional.
Only his body remains forever
an amateur.
Day 12:
More than one prophet
has left this tangle of lanes
while everything topples above him and he becomes someone else.
Day 13:
Near my bed, the rustle of newspaper wings.
There are no other angels.
Day 14:
Perhaps from being beaten thinner and thinner,
the iron of hatred will vanish, forever.
And I said to myself: that's true, hope needs to be
like barbed wire to keep out despair,
hope must be a mine field.
Day 9:
Here they sit and there they walk
Here they hate and there they love.
Day 10:
Sometimes I come crashing down inside myself
without anyone noticing. I'm like an ambulance
on two legs
Day 11:
And his soul is seasoned, his soul
is very professional.
Only his body remains forever
an amateur.
Day 12:
More than one prophet
has left this tangle of lanes
while everything topples above him and he becomes someone else.
Day 13:
Near my bed, the rustle of newspaper wings.
There are no other angels.
Day 14:
Perhaps from being beaten thinner and thinner,
the iron of hatred will vanish, forever.
