Memories
She sat
on the cold furnace and watched the pink sky.
Flakes are whitening
entire city as if
someone had suddenly sprinkled
flour over it. Branches of trees are glitter of
white decorations on the light that
steal out from lighted
windows. She sat huddled, wrapped in a blanket,
recalling the winters days when the furnace was
warm, even hot, and the
room heated. Those were the days when she spend wintertime in short sleeves
in an apartment that was now icy. He felt how
her nose is cold
from the air she breathes. She turned off the light - and there can be saved something too. Snowflakes
danced their ice
dancing, but she has
always preferred Sun, color, and warmth.
Flakes played enthusiastically. White plush of dress slowly
began to decorate of incidental passers. The steps creak
in the snow. Only this creaking violates the silence
of the night. Soft, fluffy,
white, icy flakes like fireflies fluttering around lights.
"It
will be nice, even beautiful to observe pink
sky and white fairy
tale if this furnace is warm
as once" -
he thought.
A pink sky is sprinkled
town with white powder. Winter is wearing his
solemn, cold white
dress. Steps have made the most wonderful patterns on it that no one artist
could not conceive. The street lamps are illuminated
only contours of pearl
brooch. It had never been clear to her why the
winter on white dress putting the pearl ornaments.
Only sometimes someone snow diamond glinted on
dress. White pathways lead
to a pink sky.
It seemed to her
warm and even if it
poured his cold snowflakes and created
from them waving fluffy
curtain. She remembered that earlier this
pink sky led her
to a special world, a world
between dream and reality, a world where dreams become reality and the reality
become the dream, where is
losing the distinction between reality
and imagination, where
unfulfilled desires realized and dreams are comes
true in a magic way, in a world where are no worries,
no sadness, where
is no exist "can not" and
"no" to the world of
light and color, in the world of daydreams.
There you are sinking, losing in a strange, unreal world from
which no longer want to go back.
There worries lose
sense; problems are solved in an
instant, so easy, logical way. There time
and space lose their dimensions.
There are unrequited love, forgotten dreams,
hopes and wishes
are only concepts from another world. There happen all the things we desire, all that we hope. There
we meet people we
do not know, talk to the birds, and hear the speech
of flowers. And feeling?
This unexplainable charge of emotion takes us farther,
deeper into the amazing world of daydreams. And, everything, ah,
everything is so beautiful, unreal. She always wants to be in this world long, long time.
But ... but the furnace
is cold. The cold
in room can to cut with a knife. She
felt that the cold cuts her lungs with
each breath. Even the memory of
the time in the beautiful land
of dreaming could not warm her. Neither the memory
of the delightful, clear view on
the white backyard with beautiful patterns on the festive winter dress
could not warm her because now she
watched that from the icy cold room from cold
furnace and through a network of branches that looked
like to her like a prison lattice,
of the cruel, cold prison.
The branch
nearby the window is moved and snow began to
fall down from it.
Bony fingers of branches rushed to the window. She
shakes with shudder and shivered under a blanket. She felt the cold breath of winter, and only she heard is the monotonous beat of watch,
which reminded her that the time is inevitably
passes, the count hers cold breaths, measured
her shakes and
comforting her that with every beat she is closer to spring.
"Springtime"
– it's heard her
silent barely audible sigh.
She wanted
to escape from that dream, to get away from that cold
prison, to scream, to pray for help, but
the voice freezes on the lips
in a cold room. She realized that it was not a dream.
The light
comes on, like flashes
of the Sun. He turned toward him, her eyes full of hope glitter on her face. She raise
up her hands to that
Sun but cold
breath of room are freezes them in the air.
Quick put them
under the blanket. Sparks in her eyes quenches in a moment.
"That's
not the right warm, shining Sun" – she think sadly and close hers eyes.
- What are you doing on the
cold furnace? Don't
you see that you are shivering
even under a blanket? Let's lie down and pull up.
Her blank stare turned and obediently,
as if she hypnotized move to that worried
voice. She trembled long, long time
covered over hers head with blanket and quilts. Finally, a little warmed, with
the first signs of heat she immerse in a dream that lead her to better and more
beautiful place, the better, warmer and nicer tomorrow.
------------------------------------------------------------------
Secanje
Sedela je na hladnoj peci i posmatrala ruzicasto nebo.
Pahulje su zabelele celi grad kao da ga je neko odjednom posuo brasnom. Grane
drveca su svetlucale od belih ukrasa na svetlosti koja se iskradala sa
osvetljenih prozora. Ona je sedela scucurena, zamotana u cebe secajuci se dana
kada je pec zimi bila topla, cak vrela, a soba zagrejana. Bili su to dani kada
je zimu provodila u kratkim rukavima u stanu koji je sada bio leden. Osecala je
koliko joj je nos hladan od vazduha koji udise. Ugasila je svetlo – i tu se
moze ustedeti. Pahulje su plesale svoj ledeni ples, a ona je oduvek vise volela
Sunce, boje, toplotu.
Pahulje su zanosno igrale. Beli plis haljine polako
pocese da ukrasavaju slucajni prolaznici. Koraci skripe u snegu. Samo ta skripa
narusava tisinu noci. Pahulje meke, bele paperjaste, ledene kao roj svitaca
leprsaju oko svetiljki.
"Kako bi bilo lepo, cak prelepo posmatrati ruzicasto
nebo i belu bajku da je ova pec kao nekada topla" – pomisli.
A ruzicasto nebo je posipalo grad belim prahom. Zima je
obukla svoju svecanu, hladnu belu haljinu. Koraci su napravili najdivnije sare
na njoj koje ni jedan umetnik ne bi mogao da osmisli. Ulicne svetiljke su
osvetljavale tek konture sedefastih broseva. Nikad joj nije bilo jasno zasto
zima na belu haljinu stavja sedefaste ukrase. Tek po koji snezni dijamant
zasvetluca na haljini. Bele staze vodile su ka ruzicastom nebu. Ono joj je delovalo
toplo i ako je sipalo svoje hladne pahulje i stvaralo od njih lelujavu
paperjastu zavesu. Setila se kako ju je ranije to ruzicasto nebo vodilo u
poseban svet, svet izmedju sna i jave, svet gde snovi postaju stvarnost a
stvarnost san, gde se gubi granica izmedju realnosti i maste, gde se
neostvarene zelje ostvaruju a snovi se ispunjavaju na magican nacin, u svet gde
nema briga, nema tuge, gde ne postoji "ne moze" i "nema", u
svet svetlosti i boja, u svet sanjarenja. Tu tones, gubis se u jednom cudnom,
nestvarnom svetu iz koga vise ne zelis da se vratis. Tu brige gube smisao,
problemi se resavaju u trenu, na tako lak, logican nacin. Tu vreme i prostor
gube svoje dimenzije. Tu se nalaze neostvarene ljubavi, zaboravljeni snovi, a
nada i zelje su samo pojmovi iz drugog sveta. Tu se desava sve ono sto prizeljkujemo,
sve ono cemu se nadamo. Tu se upoznajemo sa ljudima koje ne poznajemo,
razgovaramo sa pticama, cujemo govor cveca. A osecanja? Taj neobjasnjivi naboj
emocija nas vodi sve dalje, sve dublje u taj neverovatni svet sanjarenja. I,
sve, sve je tako lepo, nestvarno. Uvek je zelela da se u tom svetu sto duze
zadrzi.
Ali, ... ali pec je hladna. U sobi hladnocu mozes da
seces nozem. Osecala je kako joj ta hladnoca reze pluca sa svakim udisajem. Cak
ni secanje na put u predivnu zemlju sanjarenja nije mogao da je ugreje. Ni
secanje na divan, jasan pogled na belo dvoriste sa predivnim sarama na svecanoj
zimskoj haljini nije moglo da je ugreje jer je sada je sve to posmatrala iz
ledene sobe sa hladne peci i kroz mrezu granja koje joj je licilo na resetke
zatvora, okrutnog, hladnog zatvora.
Grana ispred prozora se pomeri i sneg poce da pada sa
nje. Koscati prsti grane pohrlise ka prozoru. Ona se strese od jeze i zadrhta
ispod cebeta. Osetila je hladni dah zime. Cula je samo monotone otkucaje sata
koji je potseti da vreme neumitno prolazi, broji njene hladne udisaje, meri
njena podrhtavanja i tesi je da sa svakim njegovim otkucajem je bliza prolecu.
"Prolece" – ote joj se tihi jedva cujni uzdah.
Htela je da pobegne iz tog sna, da pobegne iz tog hladnog
zatvora, da vrisne, da moli za pomoc, ali se glas zaledi na usnama u hladnoj
sobi. Shvatila je da to nije san.
Svetlo se upali, zabljesta kao Sunce. Okrete se ka njemu,
a oci joj zacaklise pune nade. Ruke se pruzise ka tom Suncu ali ih dah hladne
sobe ukoci i zaledi u vazduhu. Brzo ih vati pod cebe. Iskre u ocima se ugasise.
"To nije ono pravo toplo, sjajno Sunce" –
pomisli tuzno zatvorivsi oci.
-
Sta radis na toj hladnoj peci? Zar ne vidis da
sva drhtis i ispod cebeta? Hajde da legnes i pokrijes se.
Njen
prazan pogled se okrete i poslusno, kao hipnotisana podje ka tom zabrinutom glasu.
Dugo je drhtala pokrivena preko glave ispod cebeta i jorgana. Najzad se malo
zagreja, a sa prvim znacima toplote utonu u san koji je povede na lepse i bolje
mesto, u bolje, toplije i lepse sutra.
By DeeDee
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