Wednesday, 21 September 2011


A small set of - rather insisting - dreams to run after.
There was I, performing my part. And it was all pretty fine, I got to say.

New winters were blowing in.
It was a new first day.

I was leaving home, heading to any place in reach.
No matter it did - my mind was no longer an inhabitant of this set of flesh.

As the independence manifesto was screamed, a louder yell was echoing inside me. Unheard, but somewhat noticed.

I was beat to the point of bleeding, while the envelope was taking long to arrive.
Wrapped in it, my safe conduct, written in serious, monochromatic letters. Frigid, but yet so welcome when it eventually arrived.

And then I was struggling to pick up the pieces of the life of a couple of weeks ago, which now seemed so distant. Funny how time never runs on an even pace.

My quest, obviously, is not even nearly finished.

No exit is in sight, no answer is yet inferable.
None of this, however, feels wrong or bad.

For there is better feelings to believe in, a feeling that is embracing us.
It took over the city this morning.

In remembrance to those warriors, they marched on a parade.

In honour to the land where the brave ones have no fear in the slightest.
Where they have the urge to take their swords and fight.
Where they are encouraged by the risk of being reduced to rag.
Where they are keen to give their blood to their cause.

Shall we bow before these brave gentlemen.
Shall we worship their land.

And should I have an inch of their bravery.

I look around and contemplate.

There is also better love to believe in, greater life to believe in, a colourful sky to believe in, a land of wonders to believe in.

Are you brave, are you a believer, dear reader?