Bibliothek-Café on Potsdamer Straße 33

Autor: ladi sadiv bodik | 23.12.2016 o 11:15 | (upravené 19.3.2017 o 22:04) Karma článku: 0,00 | Prečítané:  81x

(December '16, Berlin before the attack; Aleppo razed to the ground already)


People sitting around here: a jolly bunch playing cards amid the hard core studying nerds

of whom I am one these days.

These are the days when I get to be inside -

the place is warm and cozy.

Others and I drink Schwarzkaffee mit Milch for 1.30€ with no

apparent shame -

the truck's still parked in a depot in the east or south of Berlin.

Outside the freezing windy world is burning on a funeral pyre

- skulls half burnt, turned to ash and dust,

cremation fully accomplished under the patronage

of russian missiles over Aleppo, the principal cremation ground these days.

Eyes pierced with sorrow,

eyes filled with greed and contempt of the soon to be fallen

comrades of the rotten balls unit –

heartless fuckers‘ disease spreading around the globe for ...

Not oil, I suppose, everybody’s got plenty.

For what then? A disposable hyperdose of acknowledged Tuesday authority...

The power-junkies are back -

they hate Teslas, they hate love, they hate themselves and serve

the worst instant coffee for the masses, for billions, for millions of human lives.

Cohen passed.

A substitute awaits, it’ll soon arrive – I dream of tens of thousands of jesuses who would

emerge out of nowhere to reinvent the frozen electronic hearts loved ten thousand times

on a social network and zero point two times in real life scenarios.

Frozen grounds, cremation grounds, frozen hearts, quicksand grounds of mislead emotions,

people with seeing eyes still blind –

how deep can you fall – or have to – to know that this is no road to be taken* -

I weep – deep within – for my mother is getting old

I know she is tired, her potential unused, used up and abused.

What is my purpose here?

I am here to keep on carryin‘ on,

Mother Earth – I am your middle-aged agent with no name, no ego, no plan,

a mere vision of better tomorrows -

so don´t you worry,

don't worry.









* an allusion to Robert Frost's "The road not taken"

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