Day 1

date – one
month – one
copy-paste of the false masked like a tradition
it is a meter of personal choice either to melt into the crowd or to dedicate ourselves to our longings
nobody notices the big forefinger which the crowd has turned into
a forefinger perished by the falseness that pours form it

nobody knows
what the time is

it slowly crumbles into little forefingers in a hurry to start again … the old stuff
they are so little that they cannot notice the laces of frost that have covered their cold homes
homes left by them about ten hours ago to spend a monthly salary for a new year party
the little stomachs rumble with hunger
(the delicacies do not satiate – they are a feast for the eyes)
they do not hear the whispering of the snowflakes
they do not even notice them
they are too busy to point at five or six little fingers that run over carefully
they are afraid not to be stamped out by the forefingers

– Vesy Savova

Day 1

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