A stranger in a land of strangers...


What to type about? Maybe that there is a comedy passing in the TV? Maybe about the men in the cafe speaking out loud, laughing, smoking? About them, who I know nothing about, living their friendship here? I am a stranger in a land of strangers. The feeling is not good. I miss that time that I could simply sit in front of the computer and write. I didn't thought if it was rit or wring, I simply used to sit there and write. Nothing else mattered, but writing. I miss that further time that I used to sit around, anywhere would be OK, I would pick the charcoal, the colouring pencils, whatever!, and I used to paint. I was still a stranger in a land of strangers, but at least I used to have my own domain. I was free. I was so free and I used to fly so high. I used to have fun between the angels. From times to times, I used to go down and have fun in hell with Demons too. But tha was a few years ago... I am jus a stranger in a land of strangers...


I have made my own decisions. My decisions under my own risk. I've paid the price. I'll be paying that price forever, unless I find out a way to redeem myself. Oh, Angel with no wings, where are your dreams now? Where are all those gardens where you've walked speaking to the trees, to the flowers, to the mutilated statues?

My mind is filled with people that I'venever seen. My mnd is filled with places, voices, smoke of cigarette in a beautiful frame of nature that I've never reakised before. I hear their screams. I can hear to their dreams, to their hopes, to their prayings late at night. I am alone. I am thinking of the full moon in the sky of my city, while I am walking down the streets, singing. That dark park near to my house is filled with supernatural creatures. Not those who live in the books, but those who live within my own being and my own mind.

I still am a stranger in a land of strangers...

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