Late in the midday


At the beginning, the world seems overwhelmingly big
It has so many layers, arms, clothes, pitches, faces
It seems that a lifetime is not long enough for you
to explore at least the tip of its nails

At the beginning the world includes everything, indefinitely
The open horizon mingles the shapes of the sky with the ones of the ground
What is dreamlike seems real
What is real seems like a dream
And you cringe into the body of desires, bathing in the amniotic liquid of the mother-destiny

Until the day when the waters split apart
When the horizon turns into the separation line between ground and sky
Between reality and dreaming

Then you are truly born,
The world takes you in her languorous, hypnotic arms
The ground is still huge
The space seems endless

After a while,
When your brogues start ripping
You think of how they beat out the same dead end roads
How they circled again and again a small shred of earth slightly bigger than the prison’s yard
And the world suddenly turns small
It starts snuggling you, stifling you
You’d like to run away, to change something,
To go astray

But the horizon line is hardly visible now
It is obscured by the ghosts of the ghettos growing higher and higher
Covering the sky

What if the world is not bigger elsewhere?
What if it cannot be deeper than this either?
You wonder

You feel caught in a suffocation space, in a dimensionless cavity, like in a fishnet
You hurt yourself on its too many surfaces and corners
You’re crammed, pushed down a corridor that becomes smaller and smaller
The claxons pierce your thoughts

There is no place to go
The world is the same everywhere
You live in the blinding light of absurdness
Fighting with your own mind like a gladiator
Captive in the same decor like in the claw of a predator
Walking the same roads again and again

Everything is the same, day by day

The only thing changing once in a while are the brogues.


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