Narrative Of A Long Night

Night is fallen and the single star writing in the heavens remembers... The silence of stars Shining from the heavens The oak tree's hair is unkempt, its root parched by stony-hearted clouds whose teardrops never fall. The oaks are become monuments for the squirrels who ran before the hunter's cries - the trees do not thirst for the squirrels' blood In their passion the oaks have burnt themselves, one by one. The stars silently from the Heavens shining, Hungry squirrels are left there until they die, dreaming of what lies outside the cold and putrid rooms, Iron- doored, lights extinguished. The hunters say: We bring comfort of the green of spring and the yellow of summer, but the wild squirrels are grey. The breeze deceives the cypress while the wind cuts off its leg and leaves fall, hopeless, without farewell to the tree - that high roost of a tired stork. Old children crawl toward the vase where their age was grown but the breeze deceived and was the wind and the vase, like the mirror, is cracked. Families considering the moon sell the flower vase but their hands cannot reach the moon and they have been dreaming. Stars silently from The heavens shining In the jail the noise increases... in the trading room the noise increases... but the light in the squirrel's eyes is gone and the storks seeks a new country where no-one will cast him out. In the corner of the terminal, drifting in the sleep of waiting, the babble of the building disturbs this young man's thoughts saying: The sun has deceived you - it will not rise again until this century of night is ended and the sunflowers may raises their heads once more. 2003