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Article Communautés Concours Essai Multimédia Personnelles Poèmes Presse Prose _QUOTE Scénario Spécial | ||||||
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agonia ![]()
■ Petite fougère ![]()
Romanian Spell-Checker ![]() Contact |
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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2010-08-17 | [Ce texte devrait être lu en english] |
I’m finally a bride
Marching with my fellow passers-by Towards nowhere Treading upon odor-breathing grass My comrades, why does your skin look so tired So blue? Why do you travel in boxes, carrying alongside The timid mourning of your loved-ones Why won’t you flirt with me? I’m not going to marry that filthy old boy His lack of imagination His lack of strength Oh…! But I am still keeping my dress I feel so …precious in it, Tell me… Isn’t that strange looking girl Traveling in her old rusty box Looking at me with envy? Why is she moving? Waving at me while the others are still Why can her lifeless limbs perform such actions? Should I run? She looks gentile, but yet trapped Appearing in all those strange places As my look wanders by …who am I? Why don’t I have a box? To lay my tired legs in it, Why must I keep my fancy dress In continuous movement? It’s almost night We keep on marching through narrow streets now I’m flirting… My dress moves by itself… I’m laughing playing with the shadows around me... I’m dancing I’m a bride… I’m young in the narrowing passage… Coming closer to you, Smile to me, Let the silence dry behind us..
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