Within the bounds of a lonely night
To be unloved –
is merely a misfortune.
To not love – that's true misery.
A. Camus
Imagine the stream of cars,
rushing almost silently
beyond the windows, within the night...
Slowly
the snow falls...
It falls
on
the houses.
It falls
on
the streets.
On
lonely people.
It falls
on
bridges and
on
the churned ice.
(...)
Here comes the New Year.
The spruce in Alexander's Square.
White –
in black.
Cast iron
darkens in its fence...
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