Monday, November 18, 2013

The Storm brings me back to easy life - ghosts howl around the walls of Valletta

Time for an EXIT right out of the beginning of a winter's tale

the fully grown wind of an island in the middle

an island in the cross

in Our Sea of carcasses and broken dreams

were the walls still tell of old feuds and riches and might and fears

restored with the help of our communion
Some seems to be recurrent
on repeat
instead of hold rewind and cumagain
The same waves as always during autumn and strong volleys of wind blow ashore

and a full moon plays hide and seek, light and dark, now you see me now you don't

on top of an exagerated yet humble human-made lightshow

were strange vessels

compete with each other and a bicicle that noone can ride but art

And even though it might be cold and windy for the Maltese

it feels like an exit into freedom for some
who come
from the North from the main from that land behind the mountains who are white already
as well as for some
who come
from the North from the island of motherly colonisation
But they are few right now
and they fall with night
the wind sweeps the streets
leaving few
enclosing many


So let those ghosts howl
at the walls of their unaccepted ends
and may they find their way into a better light
with the full moon
a spoon of liquor
and a grain of salt
like an incantation on an old horn
like a prayer on a broken lip

Valletta 18.11.13

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