<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=488381" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Going Back Home After Days Of Desolation</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">you hear the noise<br>of the day<br>drums beat so hard<br>on the city <br>streets<br>on a mardi gras</div><div style="margin:10px 0">people march with the sound<br>of victory<br>upon a mass demonstration<br>of their<br>mobbing slogans</div><div style="margin:10px 0">masks of faces<br>that you have not fully <br>figured<br> crowd the mall</div><div style="margin:10px 0">outside<br>you hear the loud<br>screams of the heavy rain<br>the blowing horns of<br>the cars and<br>the jeepneys<br>on those rush hours<br>people are running<br>women are holding on <br>to their kids <br>from school<br>lights are turned on<br>blinding<br>your view</div><div style="margin:10px 0">this is the horror of<br>the<br>daily bustle <br>the noise of <br>every day's struggles<br>the existential <br>angst<br>that no philosophy<br>can hide</div><div style="margin:10px 0">time knows no one<br>and the hours<br>treats no one with<br>specialty</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> x x x </div><div style="margin:10px 0">you rest your head<br>upon a green velvet sofa</div><div style="margin:10px 0">and you remember</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br> hearing once again the variant<br>bustles of the hour<br>at the center of<br>this huge mall<br>the sounds have turned into pins<br>and thorns<br>in your brain</div><div style="margin:10px 0">there is no rose<br>nothing red nothing blue as a <br>cloud</div><div style="margin:10px 0">x x x </div><div style="margin:10px 0">when you finally go home<br>to the house that you leave<br>days ago<br>which you think<br>created the worst loneliness <br>dragging your life<br>like a steel ball<br>to your chained<br>legs and arms</div><div style="margin:10px 0">x x x</div><div style="margin:10px 0">you close the door<br>and then you know how beautiful<br>is silence<br>for now</div><div style="margin:10px 0">how satisfying like water to your thirsty mouth<br>how comforting like the softest pillow to your head....</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Ric+S.+Bastasa">Ric S. Bastasa</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <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=488381" data-title="Going Back Home After Days Of Desolation de Ric S. Bastasa" data-description="you hear the noise of the day drums beat so hard on the city streets on a mardi gras people march with the sound of victory upon a mass demonstration of their mobbing slogans masks of faces that you have not fully figured crowd the mall outs..."></div> </div> </div>

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