Sacred Night

Light rays are resting
far away behind the horizon line
under deep blue placid masses of water.
Black night has fallen restless,
grey-white humid fog is sinking down,
leaving a freezing sensation into the bones.
All the dull country plain is resting
no voices, whispers
sound of steps
engines' buzzing.
Morpheus is spraying all over
his sleeping dust.
At last tired silent pale people
can switch off their brains
trying to have some scanty hours of rest.
Rest, sacred rest, needed rest
before the other
sausage of the day
will be cooked in the pan.
Pots on, gas on high
experience the reckless feeling
of having two black crow wings
to fly to No Man's Land
but suddenly you start to smell
like a forest beast
the perfume of a fleeting freedom
giving you a grand muscle strength,
you start to wildly laugh and pant
and you can't stop
until your head gets dizzy
your limbs get heavy
and then lifeless
when your body lays down
at last.
You have not forgotten to boogie
but now it's all over once again
and a tight expression
shuts your mouth,
veils your eyes.
That's the usual life circle
of the Ordinary Man
dragging on its tantalizing game
of breaking/reinforcement
till the end of secular time.

So bad not to hear friendly words,
to feel loneliness.
Life it's worth
the experience of the warm
tenderness of a safe embrace,
sweet whispered words.
All together engraved on the surface
of a rice grain.