Some events in our history can be traced all the way back to the start; at the end of this tunnel, negative events find their beginnings, usually labored by some negative action.
Photo by Danny Lines
“Fables come in shades and sounds. “Ancient Sun
showing face again,
melting asphalt on the ground,
it’s dry and humid
at the same damn time.
Architecture – old remnants
of forgotten utopia, fading
on the vintage photos, hiding
in the albums on the shelves
of now silent libraries of old.
Suntanned yellow wall is visibly a pensioner,
with former glory slowly fading but sturdy in its right
can hold another fifty with some care, some say.
They all identical, to the design
approved by an autograph of the state official
inside the folder, inside the drawer of the table,
down the halls of the city council;
just another building at the time
identical to others in its color, size.
Wait a moment, don’t lose the focus
right at the start,
you see, this poem is not about
the advances of urbanism ideas,
or romantic feels of building country
with socialist ideals producing sweat,
from the naked farmers back.
once in a lifetime opportunity, golden ticket
to the train, headed
to the destination lost in fables
from the tales on the lips glued to the walls
most often visited by birds and ghosts.
Fables come in shades and sounds,
some wanted to be known, some somehow lost the voice
sanctioned by the ever-hungry PR department,
showing an artificial image of well-being and goodwill.