Faces of the city

Inspired by Kieran Halpin „Berlin Calling“

Glimmering lights, swirling through each other, displace the darkness of the night, let it slip into the background, for the day is to last, the dark, terrifying are limited, so that a reconciliation is made impossible. Yet light and darkness is nothing but the addition of two poles to the whole. It must be light, so bright that the nocturnal, warm sky is bathed in cold light, that the stars and even the moon fade from it.

And in the midst of this sea of lights, in the middle of it, and still completely untouched, there are two the stars are lighting for, and the moon as well, as if the lightness were backward, and the way for the gentle, warm light of the night. They see the gentleness and the connectedness. A silvery shining drop, pure and clear, nets their eyes and frees them from blindness.

 

Shriek, stifling music sounds from the speakers and lays itself over the city like a cloud of noise bacilli. The engines are howling, and the eternal singing of the advertising messages breaks through the sounds. Motors are howling. The voices try to drown the noise. Word shreds fly through the air, clapping on both targeted and unorthodox ears, always broken by laughter, much too shrill, much too obtrusive. Just do not let the silence enter, just not be quieter, hear your own heartbeat, or your own thoughts, just not. They avoid the silence, like the devil, the holy water. Yet the silence is the only place to rest, only when the silence is nothing more than unspeakable emptiness, oppressive, destructive.

 

And in the midst of this noise, in the midst of it, there are two like under a protective glass dome, which restrains the calmness of hearing their heartbeat, their thoughts, the one-on-one, and the intertwined and hidden, in the midst, in the heart of the hurricane, there is silence, gentle, soothing, fulfilled, living silence.

 

Always moving, just do not stand still. Everything turns, everything moves. Always farther, the busyness of the day to take in the evening, into the night. In the course of the day it is from one duty to another, from one task to another, and at night from one amusement to another, from one pastime to another, in a step after the clock, to announce in between that they are so much after the rest, pronounced in advance. They are amazed that they cannot reach their progress. There was something there, something more, and a silver stripe appeared on the horizon, but it was too bright to be seen, too much to hear the thought, and to be too quick to make it work. In short, it has striped them, provoking a suspicious pause, before they let themselves fall back again, into full, plump, promising amusement.

 

And in the midst of this hustle and bustle, in the middle of it, have found two to each other and to each other, to perceive nothing but the quiet, measured, human growing up-to-one time, time to receive time, time of fullness and full thrust life, in the midst of all those who have been hanged, they have arrived.

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