ili inspirisano, diskusijom iz prethodnog posta

ili da li isto zvuci na engleskom

ili da li se gubi smisao

ili da li mi ikad mozemo da, umesto na maternjem, napisemo to isto na nekom drugom jeziku

ili prethodni post, sve isto, samo na engleskom….

They talk. About charmed forests and gardens of moonshine. They talk. About love. About hope. About big plans, dreams and promised lands from my springtime posts. They talk - I listen. I have spoken, too…

The tales of mysterious woodlands and gardens of Eden always end, and then I see them find a handful of earth. From it they fashion a bouquet and put it in the window, to be there when the night falls and all colors fade. They embrace it then and smile as if it is roses they hold. As if it is not the barren land, but magic garden. Wonderful it is to spend nights like that, to forget stillborn days, to forget the senseless counting of minutes, each and every one of them equally immaterial.It is a precious while, indeed, until the earth from the window spoils the snow-white bedding. Only until then.