All I wanted to say is that
do not wait for death
finding you the way
you were imagining it would find you
even when flirting with the last hours
everything will spin the way it was spinning before
without any tragedy, without any changes.
Now the children are playing,
screaming for that flying object
who is going to grab it first…
And habit sticks like the mud inside the lake
for years inside everything, which is alive.
Even death can not win over habit.
Not even death!
In a way habit is the oblivion of that concept of life
– being born to die –
The elders will rest their hollow bodies
on the same bench and who knows,
maybe they will fantasize one more time about their way of dying
-the endless ways of dying –
But no form of dying will be confirmed in the end
because nothing happens us we imagine
and at the same time due to the habit
there are no surprises also.
In the last hours there is the smell of uncertaintity,
but the truth is that in the last hours
everyone is drunk
– drinking or not –
And surrealism is the only thing being alive
when everything is dying
under the hypnotised look of the habit.
Even death is shaking his head in despair.
If someone can die the way he fantasised,
then only a poet.
Lignes invisibiles 