Πέμπτη, 20 Μαρτίου 2008

Hospitalized

Shaking hands never prevented you
from operating brains in distress-
blindfolded with beads of sweat running down your temples-
laying on the sterilized metal.
Strong lights, cold, are spreading shadows
across the laminated tiles,
where blood stains are brown-
this is your time counter-
and the monotonous whispers of the respirator is
making you scream; occasionally.
The body is weaved in an interesting brand new form.

During night the window is open…

The wheel chairs on the hallway are empty,
mute and chained with spider webs to the yellow walls.

The room is narrow, ill lighted and dry…
Ideal for slow dying under the influence of psychotropic medication-
while hallucinations rules your microcosmic universe-
combined with wishful thinking and compensatory promises.

Recovery would be inevitable if the transfer to the cemetery
was kept a secret.
But no…
No secret was kept and the bed was left to petrify from solitude.

Flowers are decaying with solemn dignity imprisoned in a crystal vase,
used glasses are standing deprived of warm lips-
forgotten are exploiting countless false toasts-
matching the boring curtains.

The wind came in bringing the scent of orange blossoms…

06/12/05

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