10 August 2011
Sunrise on the beach
It’s something important.
It’s something that you shouldn’t forget.
It’s something worth it.
You should always remember it.
Eat healthy things.
Sparklin green salads. Carrots or shrimps.
Eat also deliciously sugary or salty things.
Brownies or cupcakes, lasagne, fried fish.
Eat slowly, cook slowly, take your time.
It’s something important.
It always matters, what you eat.
But there are some exceptions.
Just a few, please.
For example. Sunrise on the beach.
You’ve danced all night long.
You’ve tried to be sexy, to move slowly.
You’ve sipped green, fresh mojito.
You’ve been smashed between bodies.
You’ve smelled sweating people.
You’ve danced all night long
and your feet are now aching.
You’ve seen moon and stars,
you’ve been craving for baths
in that clean and blue pool.
You’re now coming back and feeling asleep.
Someone else is driving the car,
it’s 5.00 o’clock, but a.m.
You look out of the window,
the stars are now fading, the moon disappeared.
Look at that, you exclaim. Sky’s getting pink!
People awake, torn away from their dreams.
Sky’s getting pink!
Some of you’s yawning, someone else is suggesting:
we should go to the beach.
we should see the dawn.
we should go or we’ll miss everything.
You step out of the car.
You go in your room, you don’t change your clothes.
Your black and short dress smells of smoke and of drinks.
You just take a sweatshirt, outside it’s now cold,
and a towel, to sit down on the beach.
Then you go, you’re just three.
You’re hungry, craving for food,
it doesn’t matter what food, if delicious or healthy,
you’re craving for food, and that’s it.
The only thing you find open sells kebabs and it’s empty.
The man puts the meat in kebabs, he asks you if spicy or not.
Spicy, of course.
He finally adds everything.
Though, there are only two lettuce leaves,
a green hard tomato, and onions, onions and onions,
sliced, lonely and sad,
waiting in silence to be thrown in a bin.
So you go to the beach,
and you know that you bought a disgusting kebab
made of onions and leftover things.
It’s cold, and it tastes of simply raw onions,
all of you know it, but you don’t say a thing.
You just keep staring at the sky, at the sea.
It’s getting pinker and pinker while waves shine like gold
and move slowly and calmly and silence covers everything.
The air is a fresh one, there’s a nice and cold breeze.
While you eat you’re kebab the others arrive,
your friends, the late ones.
They all sit down, and stare at the sky, at the sea.
One of them runs in the water, he breaks gold and pink.
You go too, but slowly and calmly, as if you were the sea.
Birds are flying, up in the blue, up in the pink.
Water is warm, it makes mellow sounds of a mum kissing her kid.
Then, the sun appears.
Suddenly, red, it’s just a small hint.
But it’s fast, just a few minutes and it’s high in the sky,
a red and dark circle making people hug, and kiss.
But it’s fast, it goes up loosing it’s red,
it becomes just a sun, sparkling and yellow and bright,
so bright that you can’t see a thing,
that you can’t stare at him,
and that you finally realize how night has gone by,
and dawn disappeared.
So you stand up, you look at your friends,
you all go away from the empty, silent beach.
It’s 6.30 a.m, the roads are now shining,
washed and restored after the night.
Just a few bottles sparkle forgotten,
just a few people are already awake.
Old women with dogs, men ready to work.
They see us and go by.
They know that we’re going to sleep.
It’s 6.30 a.m. You’ve seen the dawn. The sun is now high.
You’re with your friends. You don’t need to talk.
You just need to sleep.
You’ve eaten kebab. A disgusting kebab.
You smell like raw onions. And it just doesn’t matter.
It was a sunrise. On the beach.