In the embrace on the corner you will recognize <br />someone’s going away somewhere. It’s always so. <br />I live between two truths <br />like a neon light trembling in <br />an empty hall. My heart collects <br />more and more people, since they’re not here anymore. <br />It’s always so. One fourth of our waking hours <br />is spent in blinking. We forget <br />things even before we lose them – <br />the calligraphy notebook, for instance. <br />Nothing’s ever new. The bus <br />seat is always warm. <br />Last words are carried over <br />like oblique buckets to an ordinary summer fire. <br />The same will happen all over again tomorrow— <br />the face, before it vanishes from the photo, <br />will lose the wrinkles. When someone goes away <br />everything that’s been done comes back.<br /><br />Nikola Madzirov<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/when-someone-goes-away-everything-that-s-been-done-comes-back/
