Hersenspinsel (gedicht/schrijfsel)
The Desert
the streets are made of sand
crumbling tombs, atoms
they are disintegrating
sidewalks and numbers
bleached, ambiguous
some street signs
echoes and hallucinations
this urban hell
streets turn into cities
cities into graves
graves into civilizations
worlds into multiple voids
this is not philosophy
but it tastes like it
I, you, us
in a substance
quite unknown
still unidentified
that is the illusion of knowledge
secrets and denials
to become confessions
of the upcoming third millennia
when you are the tip
no longer the base
you fall
fall you disappear
in quiet intangible
sleep.
Awake or not
wave upon wave
silence within silence
void delivering avoidance
what is the word
for the miracles
that keep us alive.
the streets are made of sand
crumbling tombs, atoms
they are disintegrating
sidewalks and numbers
bleached, ambiguous
some street signs
echoes and hallucinations
this urban hell
streets turn into cities
cities into graves
graves into civilizations
worlds into multiple voids
this is not philosophy
but it tastes like it
I, you, us
in a substance
quite unknown
still unidentified
that is the illusion of knowledge
secrets and denials
to become confessions
of the upcoming third millennia
when you are the tip
no longer the base
you fall
fall you disappear
in quiet intangible
sleep.
Awake or not
wave upon wave
silence within silence
void delivering avoidance
what is the word
for the miracles
that keep us alive.
18 sep 2009
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