Wednesday, August 25, 2004

Rovaniemi

...But if you can still dream....
Mother used to say.
Out of certain things you just can't get any sadness.
It's finally just about yourself....
Just like in the Arctic, in the eyes of my father...
Face to the ground
Cold white hands...
Newspapers
In the wooden house,
The wooden house I never left....
It's still my name, the same old stories...
With a taste of today, bitterness of yesterday.
Without ties, without phone calls, free of thrill
If you could only forget those things...
Your own pandora box, regrets mumbling outside...
Even here and now you bear the same name
Even in the outside, even by yourself
Odors of fertile ground
Free of language, free of thought
In ultimate wisdom
Just like plants... in time you grow
You yield and part...
Even from your only love, embracing yourself,
Caressing.. and then you stumble.
You're still not complete

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