There’s a town down there, sitting here I see it and a forest in there is. Standing I see more. Carriages parked, people motionless sitting on benches. There’s a town around a forest, green squeezed by grey. If there’s more to see they do not tell me, so I improvise, my eyes blink and wheels start moving tearing the forest with roads. People commence walking, collect the trunks, the branches, the leaves, building more benches, raising fences, rookeries, everything clear now, normality. There’s a town down there, no forest at all and I go back to my crayons set, oblivious...
© Christos Rodoulla Tsiailis
06/10/97
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
thank you Akram, but trust me, it is completely fictional, no personal experience involved. It belongs to a large collection of prose poems of 100 words each, a collection about cities of the world