(French writer, the father of the Naturalism: 4 letters; literary current of the Modernism: 5 letters; Picasso, for his birth place: 7 letters; the school in which studied Orlando Teruz and Portinari: 10 letters).
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
He woke up aching
having had a sleep full of bounds
like a book divided in chapters.
Even before wash his face, he went to the fridge:
to have a gulp of bitter rum (sweet comrade).
He lit a cigarette with trembling hands
and faced the sunny day with a cloudy look.
Life goes on.
He heard far off the factory whistles, the ambulance sirens.
Life goes on.
He felt so close the stink of the wrinkled sheets
all yellowish, full of sweat, tears.
The smell of the aching sleep.
He woke up jumpy
having had a sleep divided in bounds,
nightmares divided in chapters (real life’s background).
He died sat
infiltrated by the mixture of all smells:
rum, sweat, nicotine.
And the cigarette burned among his withered fingers.
Out there the sound of the factory sirens, the ambulance whistles.
And life goes on.
[courtesy of a.a.m.]
