... Whistle, Ruin And Star. Poem by Lucia Stefanovici

There is a time when the people faces are changing one to another
greedily forgetting sadness
without knowing even the forgetfulness
which its thirst sips in them.
There is a time when glasses
become empty,
when words become empty,
there is a time when to the eye remained
the memory sleep of the second in tears
and sometimes the sensation that he left.
Thinking of you I am drinking my thee
as long as I breath
the Last Nightfall.
Thinking of you,
sometimes of your name which I often
do not know anymore,
when a raw becomes a dull series
and time gets asleep on a passing by
I am smoking the Last Cigarette
in an outburst of age
tardy.