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2010-08-17 | |
Each room deposits an old man
In his dirty small room everything seems tarnished
Haunting visions whirling in front of his eyes,
The silence suddenly horrifying him.
The old man is speaking with spontaneous energy
Telling me things I couldnâ€™t perceive.
Is this a peculiar dialect of old forgotten people
Am I material or just trapped in his mind?
He barely resembles my grandfather
I know he passed away but yet Iâ€™m touched,
The old manâ€™s private rented place feels so familiar
Is if it was my own.
Am I looking into a broken future?
Why do I stand so peacefully the smell of old meat?
I must belong here, for I cannot find my way out
I wander from one room to another, in silence.
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