stupid_me a scris:Oh, da.
Si asta
After every war
someone has to clean up.
Things won’t
straighten themselves up, after all.
Someone has to push the rubble
to the side of the road,
so the corpse-filled wagons
can pass.
Someone has to get mired
in scum and ashes,
sofa springs,
splintered glass,
and bloody rags.
Someone has to drag in a girder
to prop up a wall.
Someone has to glaze a window,
rehang a door.
Photogenic it’s not,
and takes years.
All the cameras have left
for another war.
We’ll need the bridges back,
and new railway stations.
Sleeves will go ragged
from rolling them up.
Someone, broom in hand,
still recalls the way it was.
Someone else listens
and nods with unsevered head.
But already there are those nearby
starting to mill about
who will find it dull.
From out of the bushes
sometimes someone still unearths
rusted-out arguments
and carries them to the garbage pile.
Those who knew
what was going on here
must make way for
those who know little.
And less than little.
And finally as little as nothing.
In the grass that has overgrown
causes and effects,
someone must be stretched out
blade of grass in his mouth
gazing at the clouds.
Just open your heart in here and you won't need the rest. At least, not when you are in here.
Nu ti-ar fi frica daca ai fi cu mine. Trust me!
mda, vad io. legat de calarit, mie imi place sa ma uit la cai; dar am auzit ca trebuie sa fii o persoana hotarata cand te decizi sa calaresti
stupid_me a scris:cine a scris asta?
io acuma
am zis sa mai expun un gand, o treaba, o maslina
nu stiu daca seamana cu ceva scris de altcineva; ma rog; eu asta am gandit
