Haze

Say they, those days are gone

Empty glass bottle of cranberry juice 

Filled with cold water now in the fridge

Label torn, cap lost, but still

Clean on the inside

Much more transparent

Sugar-free.

Some age years have gone, indeed

Dropped me off here on this paper on the way

Too short for a western life-stile, say they 

Too long for an early bride

Much more in a graveyard of war children

Imagine what life could have been

Sky still seems blue. 

Now that the now is out of touch

And the real is other, say they

Greys of a hair remind expensive state boundries,

Ethical anxieties narrated to a sundial,

Awakening of a city with rock-n-roll trials

Full of denial

Oh! Beautiful sea,

Nostalgia is a dish worst served cold. 

Waiting, say they, is a sticky activity

Empty for a concept

Sad as a memory

Cold, if a feeling 

Numb, when hopeless

Dusty, rusted, thorny 

but precious to be wasted.

As dreary as it sounds

A child's souvenir from Nothingland.