Secanje

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"prolazim te
osećam smiruju ti se misli i krv

prolaziš me
mojoj poeziji
još samo sećanje na tebe treba"

 
The plan, it wasn't much of a plan I just started walking I had enough of this old town And nothing else to do It was one of those nights, you wonder how nobody died We started talking You didn't come here to have fun You said, "Well, I just came for you" Do you still love me? Do you feel the same? Do I have a chance of doing that old dance With someone I've been pushing away? And touch, we touched the soul The very soul, the soul of what we were then With the old schemes of shattered dreams lying on the floor You looked at me No more than sympathy, my lies you have heard them My stories you have laughed with My clothes you have torn And do you still love me? Do you feel the same? And do I have a chance of doing that old dance again? Is it too late for some of that romance again? Let's go away, we'll never have the chance again You lost that feeling You want it again More than I'm feeling You'll never get You had a go at All that you know You lost that feeling So come down and show Don't say goodbye Let accusations fly like in that movie You know the one where Martin Sheen Waves his arm to the girl on the street I once told a friend that nothing really ends No-one can prove it So I'm asking you now Could it possibly be That you still love me And do you feel the same? Do I have a chance of doing that old dance again? Or is it too late for some of that romance again? Let's go away, we'll never have the chance again I take it all from you I take it all from you I take it all from you I take it all from you I take it all from you I take it all from you
 

Češće ne verujemo u neke priče koje nisu svakodnevica nego što verujemo.
Slučajno naiđoh na ovu i setih se slične priče. Mnogo sećanja...
Obično bih napisala "priču" ali mi se ne piše, samo sam imala želju napisati kako priče u koje najmanje vreujemo, postoje.
Poželela bih ipak da svima ostanu tek priče koje će nas manje ili više ili nimalo okrznuti onako usput...
U ovoj priči zbog suza nije gorela sveća, u moj priči jedna majka je sanjala sina kako je moli da ne plače jer je sav mokar od njenih suza...
"...samo je san stvarnost..."
 
PESMA POSLEDNJEG SUSRETA

Hladila su mi se prsa mukla,
Ali moj korak beše lak.
Ja sam na ruku desnu navukla —
Rukavicu — za levu pak.

I stepenika, ko mnogo ima,
A ja sam znala — samo tri!
Jesenji šapat međ klenovima
Moli me: „Umri sa mnom i ti!

Obmanula me je sva od sene,
Promenljiva, sudbina zla.“
Ja odgovorih: „Dragi — i mene,
Isto. Umreću s tobom ja…“

Zadnjeg susreta pesme eto.
Na mračni dom pogledah taj.
U spavaćoj je tek sveća trepto
Ravnodušni i žuti sjaj.

Ana Ahmatova
 
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