The lilac arbours are gone, Brussels March 22, 2016

traditional Swedish lilac arbor

traditional Swedish lilac arbor









In the 50s when I was a child, the world seemed graspable
and safe. It was surely a class society, but people did not
expect equality in practice back then. But yet regardless
belonging, poor as well as wealthy could have a lilac arbor
in their garden and equally in summer days gathers there
for the daily coffee breaks and a chat in good mood. It
seemed to be more of sunny summer days back then. I
remember rubber boots, but not any rainy days. Winters
was generous and as made for skiing and not for crisis
and weather disasters. Yes, world was genuinely safe and
stable. Russians werebad and Americans good and I was
thin and shy, feeling unloved and stifled and I trembled
in fear, insecure like water in glass standing at a table in
shadow of a roaring volcano. The world now seems to me
fragmentary and alike houses of cards. You eat catastrophes
to your breakfast cereals, now sugar free. I can literally feel
the ground trembles under my feet. But I also experience
how I now stand on this world burly, stable and solid like
a rock. Yet, however much I have been stirred and moved
during all this years, nothing can really shake me anymore.
Nowadays,  only the conditions in our societies in the world
(now so easily and rapidly overseen), as well as all those
constant events when people becomes grisly violated (as if
the past history taught us nothing) that holds me down,
make me low. I’ll probably die sooner of brutal violence
than of the lifestyle diseases I already suffer from. We are
at war again – and war is the only alike our past history.
But we don’t need bravery anymore. The skills needed are
critical brains and alertness. Our leaders advices to us to
“live as usual because if we do otherwise, the evil enemy
has won the war”, is such a silly bullshit. No, you better
stay awake! Because you see: the lilac arbors are gone.



This entry was posted in living in the world, poems, poems by vonnely, Poetry, prose poem and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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