Spots of light

Spots of light
Gambling the night

Nervous blasts of colours, electric colors, gigantic colors
Explosions of yellows and reds beating your eyes
Suddenly undercovered by the black all around
The black of the night
The hissing of the night
Yellow eyes, pulsing on the corner, as a beast waiting for a victim.

Wind beating the horizon, flogging the city walls, counting the time
The city under the wet sensation of a long winter night
Breathing as you breathe.
The present is just the expectation of the future
Days to come, miles away
A foreign language.
Not a unique country anymore

Walking in the city
Strolling around the block,
shuffling in the streets,
smelling the flavours of the life,
kissing the air,
looking to the signs on the walls.
People look friendly and confident
People look frantic and absent
Those standing in front of you, who they are?
Cannot say I don’t love this place
Cannot say I love this place either

Grove bistro facing the river Dee
A shelter, sort of
Rain outside.
Cold and icy
Falling down on the gray river water
Circling and circling, each drop a tear between many
Inside.
The shelter and the warm sensation of belonging
Depeche Mode in the air
Music of 80s
Pictures on the walls.
Rome and Florence in the 50s, black and white
Silent figures standing and watching
Years and years ago
They Could not imagine becoming immortal this way
“One Espresso?”
The boy recognized me, second time here
“Yea, one espresso, single shot, please”
Sitting on the table close to the window, the river was dirty and cold.
Silver metal color
The tables outside
Glittering by the water on the surface
Loads of small drops falling and bouncing on it.

Noise faded away, music only a whisper.
Time seemed to slow down
A handful of minutes
Maybe hundreds
Maybe none

The espresso came, along with the gentle smile of a black haired girl
Nice people here, I said to myself.
Gentle and friendly, as always.
They give their own contribution to the sensation of being the place a shelter,
a place where to stay while the unknown and unwanted simply rules the world outside.
“I don’t belong here” I thought
I belong to other countries and dreams, cultures and illusions.
Too many countries I belong to.
I knew this pretty well
This bistro is a shelter, at least for one night, at least for this night
Outside
The river, dark gray dressed.
Cloudy sky, strom bringing
Inside
Wodden tables
A warm sensation of protection
A candle on the table
Young boys and girls resting before the night begins
Tall and slim, black dressed, curly blonde hair, piercing
It was the boy
Black dressed, blu eyes, long black hair
It was the girl
Those two among the others

Life evolving and cycling
Collecting people
Merging different stories
Into new paths
In space and time.
An island, an empire
Land of Hope and Glory

The rain was over
Cold wind beating the streets
Dark gray was the sky
Heavy and menacing
A promise
A stronger storm would come soon.

Time Table
A carved oak table,
Tells a tale
Of times when Kings and queens sipped wine from goblets gold,
And the brave would lead their ladies from out the room
to arbours cool.
A time of valour, and legends born
A time when honour meant much more to a man than life
And the days knew only strife to tell right from wrong
Through lance and sword.

Why, why can we never be sure till we die
Or have killed for an answer,
Why, why, do we suffer eachrace to believe
That no race has been grander
It seems because through time and space
Though names may change each face retains the mark it wore.

A dusty table
Musty smells
Tarnished silver lies discarded upon the floor
Only feeble light descends through a film of grey.
That scars the panes.
Gone the carving,
And those who left their mark,
Gone the Kings and queens now only the rats hold sway
And the week must die according to nature’s law
As old as they.
(Time table, Genesis form “Selling England by the pound”)