ALEXANDRU CIRTU
 

*SEVEN*
 

Why are there always red lights
When I am in a rush?
Doing my day to day routine,
I slowly unveil disappointment at its peak.
Waiting for the light to change,
Is like watching paint dry on the wall…

And why does my childhood
Seem to get the best of my melancholic moments?
Amuse me, humour me to death,
Strike fear in these eyes that have seen too much
You’re not a hero, unless you die…
We think we play with time,
When really time’s the one who plays with us…
Accidentally on purpose
It rakes up a greedy past
That’s hungry for more history…

We are born, we live, we die…
Not necessarily in this order.
I just want to sit down and forget…
Every time I close my eyes,
I see the image of a 5th grader
Holding a book by Cioran in his hand.
One too many times,
Its pages acted like tissues,
And the voice of reason,
Faded away in the pompous words…
I feel the need to believe in something.

I didn’t ask for you to put your faith in me
Nor have I asked for meeting her,
I like to think that I’m stuck in the harmless past
And things have not yet come to pass...

Truth is beauty,
And lie’s necessity,
Ignorance is bliss,
I’d like to think now that I’m not worthless…
I’d like to think that I just worth less…in your eyes,
I have seen hundreds of mirages resembling your face
But I had never been in the dessert,
Nor have I died of thirst…
And if I go to sleep deep down,
And pull a blanket of dirt over me,
Amongst dandelions and thistles,
And candles and incense,
And bad poetry on my stone pillow,
Will you still be there to tuck me in?
Will you still be there to kiss me goodnight?
Ashes to ashes and dust to dust,
Fare-the-well my eternal lust.