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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=471168" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Carousels Before The War</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">In the silence of the station and its insatiable yearning<br>To be filled with tourists and passengers<br>And bludgeon obliviously to the familiar feeling<br>Roused by scent and warmth of their far-flung home, <br>Another tourist loitered juxtaposed the ticket booth<br>Careening over the burning rails of nostalgia<br>Because the calendar pages holds a succinct<br>Concern for the macabre in inertia<br>Her coruscating soul was plummeting from her lips<br>Waiting for the sleeping train to stir and growl</div><div style="margin:10px 0">This tourist stared at me unwaveringly<br>With the tackling of her foreign eyes, rolled the dice<br>Like a steely glacial wheel chafing with the rails<br>And I could have feigned a fuming act<br>But I knew very well who this tourist was<br>She lives in my sala, behind the crumbling wallpapers<br>I stared back into the voids of oblivion<br>And in her skyscraping eyes, I saw thoroughly<br>The war before the sunrise slithering<br>In the reflection of a gaunt and baffled man</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I kept my luggage beside my prattling legs<br>Gorged choking with uniforms, a diary, and rue<br>The death is casted before the war had started<br>So I could never have heeded any less<br>And the blaring ominous noise of peril<br>In the colorless haze of the half-empty half-full station<br>Commandeers the scarce facial muscles<br>To feign a facile smile for a cordial departure<br>Before the struggle for subsistence<br>In a torpor war with the flustered brooding soldiers</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The radio sent forth a cringing wave of dread<br>Drifting a jingle subdued by the pensive noise<br>Of wives and kids and colleagues and ghosts<br>The melody beckoned me to ride a carousel<br>And the station was a theme park where<br>The idea of heaven deems to be unavailable<br>But I let the carousing carousels go on and on<br>And stash its melody in a hidden place<br>Where it would fade but never go wrong<br>And the carousals and the carousels live on.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Norman+Santos">Norman Santos</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=471168" data-title="Carousels Before The War de Norman Santos" data-description="In the silence of the station and its insatiable yearning
To be filled with tourists and passengers
And bludgeon obliviously to the familiar feeling
Roused by scent and warmth of their far-flung home, 
Another tourist loitered juxtaposed the ticke..."></div>
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