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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=559430" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Interactive Poetry</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">when i wake up this morning<br>sleep is still sleeping<br>and i slip out of the blanket<br>not to disturb sleep which<br>is still soundly snoring</div><div style="margin:10px 0">last night we did not pretend<br>that we were two dead people<br>sleep was tightly curled upon itself<br>its arms were not around me<br>and i could not remember anymore<br>exactly<br>whatever happened<br>to me<br>or us<br>if there ever be</div><div style="margin:10px 0">this morning<br> sleep is dead<br>and i survive<br>to meet another face of death<br>in the kitchen<br>and also in the rest room</div><div style="margin:10px 0">and also outside the house<br>into the road and in the office<br>where i am working</div><div style="margin:10px 0">there are so many faces of death<br>in my own world<br>and i am not the loyal subject of sleep<br>which is death's younger sister<br>neither am i a friend of death<br>nor its foe</div><div style="margin:10px 0">for out of this everyday encounter<br>death becomes nothing<br>but another furniture in the hall<br>another rock in the garden<br>part of the numerous leaves in the air<br>one of those many ' its'<br>that does not <br>really disturb me anymore</div><div style="margin:10px 0">tonight i will sleep with sleep again<br>(it is dead and unburied) </div><div style="margin:10px 0">i do not name sleep for you<br>since i too does not know about its true details<br>or identity<br>its name its age<br>when it was born<br>though i know exactly when it really died<br>as i have already told you</div><div style="margin:10px 0">and what totally is it exactly<br>the whole truth about its snores and sleep walks and talks<br>its secrets inside those thick blankets</div><div style="margin:10px 0">for in truth in this journey <br>we sleep with sleep<br>most of the time<br>(do i hear ninety percent approving?) </div><div style="margin:10px 0">we do not know much of it anyway<br>or frankly <br>much less<br>perhaps</div><div style="margin:10px 0">at any rate<br>(and this may have bored you<br>to an ending that<br>bears no significance to your present work) </div><div style="margin:10px 0">how can we be interested with such an ordinary matter<br>that occurs<br>every minute of the hour? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">and what is it that is really worth<br>writing and<br>understanding in this world<br>that does not listen? <br>(do i hear 95% of you screaming?)</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Sebastian+Soberania">Sebastian Soberania</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=559430" data-title="Interactive Poetry de Sebastian Soberania" data-description="when i wake up this morning
sleep is still sleeping
and i slip out of the blanket
not to disturb sleep which
is still soundly snoring

last night we did not pretend
that we were two dead people
sleep was tightly curled upon itself
its arms were no..."></div>
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