It’s cobweb.
It’s chaos, it’s breath.
A gentle hand passing over my face, a gentle hand over my neck.
“Look!” in a low voice.
“Listen!” with tears in her voice.
“Understand!” a compassionate voice.
Dust. It is dust.
You, me , us. What about them?
Thousands of questions, but the answers?
Thousands of lookings, but feelings ?
Thousands and thousands of words, thoughts, gestures.
You look hopingly in a mirror, in water, in glass : who is that person ?
Another day’s gone. Another week’s passed.
There are tears and smiles.
There is strength and weakness.
Motivation, incentives.
You lose yourself in time, in space, in your being.
Why?
Why so, and not otherwise?
Why here and not there ?
It is life, it is destiny.
Now it’s spring, now it’s autumn.
It’s here and also there. It’s with us,
By the questions with flavour of May.
Face to face, only this.
It’s a desert full of you, us, them.
There’s a wilderness full of abstract forms, of chances and beliefs.
Another day’s gone. Another week has passed.
And He goes and keeps on going.
It is the same road,
Emptied of any feelings.
There’s dust, and cobweb.
“Shh” , Time is speaking …
Written by Olivia Cojocaru
