Author: tchabrakobsky

between those who stretch out

and those who remain still

between those who rain 

and those who blow

between the practitioner

and non-practitioner

between a tiger

and a greek god

between the configuration of love

and the history of the dawn

between the nightmare of the unborn baby

and the lungache

between the seat

and the suspension

between a life sur toit

and a death sans toi

between seven o’clock in the morning

and seven thirty in the morning

between the colour that you see with your eyes

and the colour you see in your mind

between hearing the music in the car

and ouf of the car

between a division

and a separation

between the departure

and the lifeblood

between the jasmin

and the yasmin

between the in-between

and the borderline

Do you remember when we slept in the carparks some ages ago

Where the cement sheets were cleaner than those at the hotels?

I don’t know why but we talked about that, you know

My guess is that I must have forgotten a whole lot of memory bottle

And that those so-called news that I read on line everyday

• which close me and my voice gets close to tears

Stop me from calling my dad “dad” calling my heart “heart”

The lost signs cannot be recovered in a computer-way, I know

But the new signs could give you some new wanderings of mind

To replace real physical love and real physical transportation

While reciting

While conversing

While taking

I could not give more than a slight increase at the seacoast, a slight airing of different aspects

For the time being, the space is filled with emptiness

From some lost utopian time of the familiar geography

The small area at the corner of my body did not get to the far-away spotlighted island

Either you turn off

Either you continue

Either you turn on

Writing about this I am making it into a myth and it will never be forgotten and that is a good invitation.