how our dreams can spring out of the mess of everyday life... |
In the old streets, next to the trash containers, Where life stays frozen as an iceberg, Where kittens walk on brown eggshells And break their fragile, transparent claws While haunted away by the homeless With interesting life stories; In the wilderness of the hospital forest, Where mushrooms grew and got torn out the earth Without any consideration for the direction of their growth – Were hundreds of graves on top of the hill, I used to climb without fear; In the alley of fountains, white outfits and handsome men, Who were the subject of my fascination, When I was still learning about injections And watching diseases of soldiers Through a heavy black microscope. (One soldier even cried). In the neighbourhood of carpets, Where sunflower seeds got thrown on the streets Out of anger towards a lover; Where dolls with blue eyes started to rot on the inside, Where people were people And rottweilers were rabbits; In the valley of snow, tasting snowflakes And being warm in the middle of buried stones; In the time that I could smell yellow field flowers During the winter – My dreams were born… |