אמיר עצמון / Lost |
The people of this coffee-shop, on top of their folded newspapers, they speak, with envy in their eyes, of a man who once went lost among the rose bushes. A hero he was to them, an explorer. For they themselves knew not where or how 'lost' is. In a city, well designed, such poverty between these many walls, in names and in numbers and in corners. He was not a tall man, though his head was seen at last above the shrubs. His eyes were ornaments in many a dream. His low voice used to sing with the wind. His absence was their revalation. Their narrow minds followed his narrow footprints, with sheer ignorance of the word 'Alone'. And as they found him at last, lips still puckered for their cups, in that garden of roses surrounded by stone. Red thorns tell weeping of a man who once went lost among the rose bushes. But couldn't stay. |
היצירה לעיל הנה בדיונית וכל קשר בינה ובין המציאות הנו מקרי בהחלט. אין צוות האתר ו/או הנהלת האתר אחראים לנזק, אבדן, אי נוחות, עגמת נפש וכיו''ב תוצאות, ישירות או עקיפות, שייגרמו לך או לכל צד שלישי בשל מסרים שיפורסמו ביצירות, שהנם באחריות היוצר בלבד. |
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