Wageningen Poem by Niko Tiliopoulos

The highway was wet
and endless,
with its lights sick,
painting the asphalt pale.

The city was fake
inside its sorry,
and the people, cowards,
like the flame of my cigarette,
were barely alive.

A poem like a colour:

“Yesterday is not here yet…”

-Life here, does not give water to love, my man.
Who is crying to spit on him? SILENCE!

Down on the pavement,
two migrants from the colonies
polluted their blood with angel dust.

But they existed for no one.
No one saw them;
no one could see.

The people got blinded
in front of the handkerchiefs of their noses,
on which they printed their delusions,
so they won’t forget them.

I whispered the riddle to the clouds
and they rainwrote on the window the answer:

“You cannot learn what you don’t know”