Saturday, July 9, 2011

Little black spots

Little black spots  
-Who are you?
- Are you there?
- Why won’t you answer me?
Answer me! So I don’t feel so alone.
Embrace me.. so I feel real.
Scream at me! Do I exist?
React – reaction- respond.
NO response.
I feel I’m not human I’m  one with the birds.
I walk the streets, the mountains, I go to crowded cafes and restaurants. I talk to people, scream at them, sing for them, laugh and smile at them.  NO Reaction. I walk among the dead, standing in the middle of the streets being passed by all the  dead fish following a stream.
Embrace me because I feel so alone.
I feel I’m not human, I’m one with the birds. And with the birds I travel up and beyond, where thoughts have no limit and where freedom fills you lungs every time you
People stopped to ask questions, stopped to care breathe and smile. People stopped to keep secrets and started to lie. No mystery.
Their eyes revel everything which is nothing.
But then on a rear occasion you meet people with little black spots in their eyes. The ones who kept both thoughts, secrets and mystique.
The people who ask questions rather than excepting   deceitful explanations told my man.
Little black spots.
Then I know that you are alive, and that you think, reflect and feel.
Little black spots holding back a depth
But we are not human, we are one with the birds.

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