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רבקה ירון /שירים -17/05/2024 16:01
שירים
Drunk CityMy
People are drunk in my city. Drunk from the voice of the dead emanating from the cobbled streets; drunk from the air that was once inhaled and ex-haled by Kings and martyrs and G-Ds that deigned in my city. I love my city. I keep making love to my city, rolling naked in its streets, capturing its ancient erotic beauty, unmarred by the multitudes of wars and armies that passed through my city. I have been to many cities: East, West, North, South. Never tried to make love to them; never fancied them. I am going back to my city, which is awaiting me with an IV- filling my veins, rejuvenating my soul, pumping life into my hollow being. For as long as I am away from my love, I am a hollow, lonely woman, searching for substance. I'll
get out of my car, the one waiting for me at the airport, and I am drunk. I am in the midst of all this. The dead of "I am yours" I keep saying, "for we were wed in blood". The circle is lifting me. I am finally home. תגובותהתחברותתגובתך נשמרה |