Tomorrow's Dream

I think it was back in 2006, the Summer streets showed thin dogs searching for water.
Their shadow in the evening was taller than their dreams, as tall as the hopes that spinned my head, high, higher hopes in the Tomorrow's Dream.

My legs got enlarged at the horizontal and red sunset, not so enlarged as my joy, strange joy...

I wonder if that joy is still there: are you still there, joy?
Why aren't you still there? Why that horizontal red sun doesn't embrace me with his warmth anymore?

As he did living the Tomorrow's Dream.

All I see now are the closed lanes of Winter, and they're cold and grey.

Like barricades where the faceless people forgot to laugh.
Their faces are grey and all the same, and they carry their feet heavily in painful silence: they don't look at me, don't look at anybody.

And as they walk, and their legs seem to get buried slowly in the mud, the clocks of the afternoon say that's 4 pm.

Clocks signalling the slow hours in homes where old people fear.

Slow hours in homes where old people fear.

Slow hours in homes where old people fear.
And die fearing.





Not sure if it was back in 2005, the Summer was eternal, as it used to be over there.
You were a Tomorrow's Dream, I still remember the huge advertising of cameras Olympus in the avenue.

Oh yes, the sun was scandalously sweet, and it tanned my skin living the Tomorrow's Dream.

And Today it's only the Tomorrow's Yesterday.

And the Tomorrow's Dream runs on the Tomorrow's Wheels.

My body's shadow was projected on the sidewalks, but it wasn't the sunlight, I see, just the hope living the Tomorrow's Dream.

Maybe all I had under this sun.