Wednesday, 21 March 2012

Waking Dreams or Bloody Desperation

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Howling wind, cloudy skies; for a brief moment I am back home. Walking down the road, I imagine I am walking down to the beach, fishing rod and bag. Then forced to take another breath of air, the dream is gone.

Unpleasantly dry, no humidity at all. Not the smell of salt air in my nostrils; no, just the stink of Gauteng. Dust, traffic fumes, broken waste pipes, rotting organic products.

A grasping hand clawing for the surface, failing, sinking. Where is there hope, or is there none left at all.

A waking dream or dreaming awake? Is this desperation or imagination? Is this the beginning of the end?

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