Tuesday, April 10, 2007

The Clockwork Serenity

this is the time of sun.
this is sunrise | he stands in front of me.
i sit on the ground, i think i have some wounds on my knees.
it hurts and i can't stand.
the bright sun still shines,
and he still stands in front of me.
he lights his cigar or something.

he yells : "O' God, please give him brain,
and give me money."
this time his sentence deosn't look like a joke for me.
i'm just looking at him.
i'm just thinking about what he said.

this isn't the time of sun.
this is sunset | he isn't here anymore.
smell of his cigar is everywhere.
it sits on my hair, on my cloths, on my wounds.
i still sit on the ground, my arms are still open and tired,
and i'm not sure there isn't anybody out there to help me.


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