i ran out of time and i
am cut off from myself
like a soldier from his sword
i have no memories of colors
and things seem to happen and grow around me
without meaning
like grass on a field
it's always seven or ten past seven
and someone is babbling to me and i
gesture back trying to apologize
for not understanding
i laugh and i ramble
about some strange memories
i can't really make sense of
and i sit on a chair in an empty room
trying neither to stay awake nor to sleep
waiting for the day to collapse on itself
like an old, useless building;
i ran out of time and i
am cut off from myself
like a rat from its nest
holding the map of an old town in my hands
hoping to make something out of it hoping
to find my way back -
back from where and where to?
i ran out of time and i
am cut off from myself
like a wacko from a madhouse
caught in a middle of a game
where you have to move chairs
from one room to another and i
am always losing track of which room i
have started with
so i keep carrying chairs back and forth endlessly
in the humming noise of some electric equipment
which is somehow part of the game
although i can't figure out how;
i ran out of time and i
am cut off from myself
like a little boy from his abusing father
i know someone expects from me
to do some great thing
to be successful in some meaningful way
but the only thing i can do
is to wait for the internet connection to fail
so i wont have to find some lame excuse
for ending the conversation
before making it for the bed;
and this is the moment when a short middle-aged guy
approaches me with a smile
asking me for some change
and i notice an even shorter woman
following him timidly like a child
and for one moment i feel alone
before eventually falling asleep
i ran out of time and i
am cut off from myself
like a prophet from his god
please take me with you
i beg everybody i see
but everyone passes me by like cars racing away
in a black-and-white photo
of despair
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem