Full sun, yet, suddenly there was Poem by Lies Van Gasse

Full sun, yet, suddenly there was
the day that no one any longer dared celebrate.

Morning light slid over the square,
but we didn't do the terraces.
We didn't lie in the sun, or eat cake,
we didn't wear fluorescent clothing, no,

we didn't stroll amongst palms,
didn't dream together by the finish line,
didn't egg on at the edge of the playing field,
didn't form a parade for minor victories
with our bodies.

We went to not a single concert, took no trains,
stayed away from fairs, shunned late-night shopping
shuffled along in sluggish queues at the supermarket
and tried to hide our faces.

Birthdays passed without parties.
We graduated, but without parties.
What should we wed without a party?

So New Year's Day dawned without a drunken, wasted night,
the first of March without sun, the first of April without a fool, even on the first of May
we went on working with dusty faces.

We elected no new leaders,
warmed no new houses,
undressed in old streets
and sheltered under a canvas canopy.

We laid bricks, mixed mortar
and industriously began to build:

something meant to separate, something meant to structure
something meant to seal all round.