Trafika Europe 4 - Armenian Rhapsody

Wall clock with a blue wing *

on this wall since I was a kid I have drawn painful butterflies ends of journeys and defeated people. the need to part was always stronger than the kiss. the wall was a giant cinema canvas that had to be filled out with heroes. in the middle of it there was the blue clock. I wandered the pages of books I crossed the mountains with shepherds I ran away from, I fell in, and each time I returned to the wall. on it I raised wild goats, I played the ox horns I caressed snake skins. it felt like somebody was looking at me from beyond the wall and this was good, I was not alone. but the clock with a blue wing was silent. later I gave birth to a leaden egg. alone and empty, perfectly round I have kept it in my head. a magic lantern, the friend of the clock with a blue wing. I listened to autumn violins their ticking creating a few gardens the rustling of my mum's dresses. fantastic gardens in which the most special fruit was death.

I liked its perfume that was coming from beyond from the place where everything seemingly began. but the clock with a blue wing was silent.

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