The City, Between Love and Forgetfulness
The light shatters at the edges of the morning,
like a tired god losing its face in the fog.
The streets sigh under the hurried steps,
while the wind shakes forgotten dreams through the corners of buildings.
From the steaming cups,
the coffee rises to the sky like a fading hymn,
a prayer of those who no longer know
where the night ends and life begins.
Their hands grasp the same absences,
in a perpetual dance with the shadows of work.
On the sidewalks, words crumble
like old plaster on silent facades.
Shrill horns push the city
further away from itself,
turning its hourglass mechanically,
pushing it towards a new, identical day,
where time loses its teeth in the asphalt.
The shop windows blink with illusory mirrors,
watching passersby who believe themselves masters.
But who owns whom,
when bodies are only shattered vessels,
and souls – forgotten wind in a dusty attic?
Towards evening, the city closes its heavy eyelids,
fatigue spills over buildings like old veils.
Love and Hate signal each other from intersections,
touch for a moment, struggle, and disappear.
The circle closes again,
the four elements change masks,
and life remains only a rehearsal of forgetfulness.
Copyright © Florin Lacatus | Year Posted 2025
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