Late night. Bed time. But no! My senses, feelings and thoughts have been awakened by a muse. I lifted an eyebrow and started assimilating. Stealing and conceiving. Entering her mind, giving live to images that appear when she talked. Her words were full of passion. Full of things she wanted to share, to give away, but only to me. Only to the one she loved. And I felt blessed. Blessed with her love, care, power, passion, wills to share, will to help and with that fire that I could imagine burning inside her as she spoke. I envied her one moment for this passion. I knew she had it, but it was one of those moments when I received full confirmation. Her thoughts were now mine and I, as a thief I was, stole it all away, with greed and selfishness and then I started writing:
Saint-Tropez. Sea-view terrace. Table. Rich guy. Old. His wife young in her 20's. Very beautiful. Nice smile. Black glasses. Nice purse. Perfect place. Perfect music. Reggae. SMS. Someone still loves her. Her first and only boyfriend. Their love could have bought the world. Can you see behind those black glasses? Can you see big tears held and covered by those? Can you feel desperation, hate, despair in her heart? She laughs now. Maybe the clearest and most perfect smile you could ever hear. Laughing because of the status. Laughing perhaps she feels she has to. The same real thoughts held inside her.
Motorcycle guy. In his world. Searching for the perfect curve. The engine purls. Perfect suit. Perfect weather. Perfect road. One stop. One crippled young. Maybe one day dreamer gone too far. Maybe same spirit. One cry for help. Helmet up. One Dollar could make a difference. Can you see behind his eyes? Can you feel he feels the resemblance? For one moment he thinks about ways to help the other in need. His heart beats faster. His eyes are filled with pain. He shuts the helmet and rides away. The same scenery as before. Same motorcycle suit. Same engine. Same weather. Same road.
Mid-town. London. Rolls-Royce. Black. Tinted windows. Driver. Rear passenger. Rich passenger. Red light. Stop. Young beggar stands in front of his rear window. Too young. Too dirty. Hopeless eyes. Eye contact is made through tinted window. One way. One thought. One memory. One will to help. Only one second away. Same species outside his car. Million wishes to provide. Green light now. Gone.
Teacher in her 30's. Lots of kids every day. Small village. Nice village. Nice husband. Everybody loves her. She loves everybody. She loves kids. She gives them everything. Knowledge, understanding, mother care, respect, education. Everything she would like for her children. Her children that she cannot have. She tried. And tried. She would be a perfect mother. But no.
Subway. New York. Postman. Same job for years. Same salary. Same cigars smoked. No new thoughts. No new aspirations. Subway publicity. Only one sms needed. 2 Dollars. One child needs a transplant. He reads the pane. He reaches for his mobile and writes the number. The subway came. Doors are opened. Post man presses the red key on his phone and takes the train to work.
Why? Why do this basic cowardness can make the difference? Why we, humans, cannot pass this threshold and follow our primary thoughts? Why is it only us? Why don't we care? Why this lack of involvment? Why this lack of commitment? Is this the real us? Is this all we can do? Does all the despair and suffering near us generate only these seconds of humanity? Do we need to be born again, but now on the other side to compensate for what we already done? What is humain now? What can we define as natural and real? What can we do to make us better? Where does our thoughts stop and our action end?
We do not have to chase time. Small things can make a difference. Maybe our primary thoughts are the human ones. Maybe there are too many bullets left in this world.
Ironia suprema: javrele de la #rezist vor la CEDO!
2 months ago