Late evening of a still cold March –
You are rushing to meet a forgotten dream.
The streets are empty. The city is numb…
And…slowly, the snow starts to fall down.
Chilly wind carves in your lips
And tortures your bare hands.
You are almost running …
You are desperately running to meet yourself.
A dim light stretches its shadow
Through the transparent door.
It barely touches the first three steps…
A lonely stair immerses in darkness.
Mirrors, obscure lights, used clothes scattered around –
White cane hung on a huge window frame.
Red chair in a dark corner-
Angel’s wings lost among rubbish…
Theater basement .
Between history and triviality-
Everything makes sense.
Even… your life.
You are oppressor, a dreamer, a whore.
Broken pieces of sound and light –
You are playing! You are living!
The stage is your world!
Foolishly happy –
A life in a second –
Right before your eyes…