Prostitutie post moderna

Prostitutie post moderna poezie [ Urban ]din ciclul "Mirari inainte de culcare"- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - de Gabriela Martin [adria]

2005-11-01 | |

In ce fel de lume traimDaca virtutea-i o povara,Daca principiile iti rapescMobilitateaDe a te inclina zilnic,De a merge copacelDe la o iluzie la alta,Ce fel de lume e astaDaca visul care-ti ramaneE sa castigi la loterie,Daca o poezie eDesueta, plictisitoare si siropoasa,Daca iubirea ePentru multi si mai multiO poveste de adormit copiii?In ce fel de lume traimDaca nu ne mai satisface nimic,Daca alergam de la o dorinta la altaC-o cola si-un hamburger in mana,Cu ochii carpiti de nesomnSi sufletul zdrenteDin care mai pierdem cate un picCu fiecare pas?Ce fel de lume e asta,Care ne transforma in soldatei de plumbSi-n carne de tun?Ne vindem prea ieftin,Desi condamnam prostitutiaDe pe strazi,Daca se face pentru plataUnor facturi,Se cheama ca e totusi onorabil,Nu-i asa, prietene?Ne vindem prea usor,Dreptul la vis,Dreptul la constiinta,Dreptul la principii,Dreptul la libertate,Si la alegere.

Toronto,Oct 30, 2005Post-modern Prostitution

In what world are we living

If virtue is a burden,If principles take away

Your litheness to bow,The litheness to crawl

From one illusion to another.

What kind of world is this

If we worship every dayAnd kneel down in front

Of the mighty dollar?

What kind of world is this

When the only dream you have

Is to win the lottery?

Do we realise how childish

This dream is?

How helpless weve become,

How unconfident we are

In this world we are building,

If we cant rely on what we create,

On what we can do and achieve?

What kind of world is this

If a poem is archaic

Vain and boring?

And what kind of world is this

If love stories are just

Adult-bed- time stories?In what kind of world do we live

If nothing satisfies us any longer,

If we hurry up from a crave to another,From a wish list to another,

With a Coke and a hamburger

In our hand,

With red eyes of sleepless nights

With our soul in a handkerchiefLoosing some of it

With every step we take?

What kind of world is this

If we become pitiful soldiers

In a war against ourselves?

We sell ourselves too cheap,

Although we damn prostitution

On the streets,

We still sell some good parts

Of ourselves.

Is it any different

If its made for a paycheque

Or to pay our bills, my friend?

We sell too easy and too cheap

Our right to dream

Our right to hope

Our right to conscience

Our right to principles

To freedom

And to choice.