Clouds, like unmade beds in the sky, left and empty after sleepless nights… The sheets have holes through which shines a thin light, weak and tired like eyes refusing the day.
Holes in the clouds, they look at me like the eyes of the thousand people who pass me every day… Some as dead as swamps or lazy like a muddy river, others are sparks in a dying fire on the never ending search for food… on their lips the unspoken :”Are you the one?”, a question that remains answered…
A greeting, maybe…only to sink back again into the grey mist of their grey thoughts…
Grey like the sky, torn up by grey holes which show a timid blue…sometimes… timid and shy like hope.
I have to look into this sky, perhaps it is hiding a surprise for me, the answer to my timeless quest…my eyes drill holes into the clouds waiting for something new until the grey monotony fills them in again, until they have flown past, dragging heavily, pushed by the impatient wind, who bangs them shut like doors, tears open new ones, drives them like the dog a flock of sheep… without pity…like the desert the lost traveller searching for water… damned to wander forever… from anywhere to … nowhere…


Sybille )Sydney= Krivenko 2007