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THE 5 SENSES OF MEMORY UNTIL MEMORY BECAME THE 6TH

Waking up with

stripes of sun

crawling through

wooden shutters

and the smell

of heated pine trees

pinching 3 cats

sleeping underneath


dust flying in the air

sparkling in all of its glory

slowly descending

and gently sit upon

a couch that has lived

through the war

and a blanket that was

knitted when staying alive

was a matter of lack.


drumming sounds of cutlery and pots

clinging with each other

flip flops shuffling on

nicked marble floors

and widowed neighbours

for 45 years over the fence

discussing

about The moon

and its impact

on fishing

or how the river dried out

and tomatoes will come

later this year.


two shovels in harmony

splitting the ground in two

liberating ants and worms

that will be introduced

to my backyard

for their first time


the old man stays loyal

to his simple daily pleasures:

his fresh baked coffee

his destroyed denim pants

his cigarettes in the back pocket

his favourite sound of a hose

watering the concrete

while his lady

always stays in the kitchen

or on a single chair

in the middle of the balcony

overlooking her beloved kingdom

possibly wondering

why her hands

became so wrinkled

and make that wedding ring

look less of what it was


she is staying loyal

to her small pieces of fruit

the plastic bags from

the bakery next door

filled with vegetables

that smell like earth

and while slowly walking

with her right arm

always holding

her waist

with respect


she always asks

where her old man is

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