mjesto:zauzeto

utorak, 12.09.2006.

odgovor kruga

kolone izgubljenih jecaja
što vape za trajnom radošću
štropoću bistrom rijekom.
misao ih vodi da dovest će ih do netaknutih stijena
al' ona vala nema, samo mali kamen na dnu toka.

bez tereta štropoću, al' i dalje tuguju.
duboko tonu.
oštri glas probija bisere što sunce joj poklanja
kap po kap, radost njene bistrine ih osvaja.

prevareni su jecaji što su tragali za srećom.
najtužnija je rijeka koja zna teret svoga kraja.
svakog trenutka nestaje u zrnima soli,
jer ona teče i teče i nemože stati.

sad jecaji su nošeni valima snažnim
do stijena što razaraju svu tu bol.
sad oni će živjeti oplakujući rijeku
dajući joj trag mora u suzama svojim.

12.09.2006. u 16:10 • 20 KomentaraPrint#

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rasprava o utjecaju globalnog zatopljenja na razmnožavanje malih žutih mrava sa šest nogu.ha ha ha

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Umorna


Umor je duboko u meni
riba u vodi, podrum u kuci
Umor je na rubu usne
rec upucena nekom ko odlazi
nekom ko odlazi...

Vodi me, vodi me,
vodi me na vodu...
Vodi me, vodi me,
vodi me na vodu...

Zar ne vidis, da mi se oci sklapaju?
Zar ne vidis da mi se oci sklapaju...

Odmori me, zatvori me
zamotaj me, umotaj me
poklopi me, odlozi me
odahni me, udahni me
opusti me, otpusti me
ponesi me, odnesi me
polozi me, ostavi me
ostavi me, ostavi me

Zar ne vidis da mi se oci sklapaju!
Zar ne vidis da mi se oci sklapaju...


(ekatarina velika)



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Maurits Cornelis Escher


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...I am painting pictures which make me die for joy, I am creating with an absolute naturalness, without the slightest aesthetic concern, I am making things that inspire me with a profound emotion and I am trying to paint them honestly.

-- Salvador Dalí

ALONE
From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life- was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view
.

Edgar Allan Poe