The Story of Flying

“ Nobody will survive after falling from such height”_
I think and I fly.
My friend stood in the foyer of the old airport,
In one hand he held a tumbler full of whisky,
In another_ a sealed envelope.
_ while taking off tilt your head back-he said_
Tilt your head back and close your eyes.
All these seemed so much like kissing instructions,
Which were given to all of us one day,
I did not get frightened.
I flew for a long time according to my friend’s methods
and international safety rules
and finely I understood,
that not all flying is for saving ( survival).
I tell you an entirely different story today,
I tell about the inborn talent of flying,
I tell you about the girls,
Who at some time were burnt on the fire,
I tell you about myself too_
My magic is not to be mentioned to others,
But I somehow managed to make you turn to me.
I tell you about the girls,
Whom you cannot distinguish from others
With an unarmed eye ,
They also go to the fast food shops,
They too go to the shopping centres with full cards
And leave with empty (cards),
They too break the driving rules,
More often they have the habit to push continuously the horn signals.
They don’t hide their wings anywhere_
They have nothing to hide.
They are as simple as early spring flowers
And when they walk in the street
They don’t always look at the sky_
They know well,
That the earth is sometimes more important.
They don’t look like girls from magazines,
For whose sake the war can break out easily,
They are the most beautiful then,
When they fly.
They flying is blind and unaddressed, (without destination)
Their love is sometimes punishment.
At midnight,
When they wish others good night
with a usual smile,
They open the windows
and breath with their whole bodies
The night soundless air
And they don’t even understand how they move high
Toward to the fool moon.
Below there are seas and oceans,
Mountains and rocks,
Below other people sleep so deeply,
It never comes to anyone’s mind to come out,
To look up at the sky and see them_
Flying without destination (aimlessly)
The girls with closed eyes,
The whole army of armless magicians,
Whose flying looks the most of all like longing,
Whose flying is never a compromise,
Who know only one spell:
“I love you!”
Who know,
That if the flying does not end next to him,
For whose sake years ago we were given our life,
Then it is better to observe a simple rule_
All the flying is not necessarily for saving.
My friend sits in the armchair,
In one hand he holds a cup of tea,
In another_ TV remote control.
He says:
Why it always happens with you like that,
That sometimes you are so happy,
Sometimes _ the most unhappy.
I look at him,
Sorrowful because of me,
Tired from caring of me
And I tell him nothing,
Because he believes in the strength of my wings,
Because he believes in the all might of the safety rules,
Because he believes in the happy end of my story.
I always fly with my head tilting back,
With my eyes closed.
Today your love is my trajectory,
Today your being is my peaceful landing.
You hold those invisible threads,
On which I hang,
Which don’t’ obey the direction of the wind,
Which don’t obey anything,
Apart(only your ) from you breathing and heart.
We, both know well_
While falling from such height
The life fades away like a dream.
You decide.
I will forgive you_
Not all the flying is for saving.

Share this poem

view comments

Comments (0)

No comments yet - be the first:

Leave a comment