Pogrešam te
Objavil/a šuši 12.10.2007 pod depra, miks, ninanana
Oprostiš? Nisem vedela, nisem mogla prit. Sej boljše, ker bi jokala kot dež.
Playing her parchment moon Precosia comes along a watery path of laurels and crystal lights. The starless silence, fleeing from her rhythmic tambourine, falls where the sea whips and sings, his night filled with silvery swarms. High atop the mountain peaks the sentinels are weeping; they guard the tall white towers of the English consulate. And gypsies of the water for their pleasure erect little castles of conch shells and arbors of greening pine.
In bi se spet tri ure objemali, spet bi te hotela prepričati, da ostani, čeprav je prav, da si šla.
Playing her parchment moon Precosia comes. The wind sees her and rises, the wind that never slumbers. Naked Saint Christopher swells, watching the girl as he plays with tongues of celestial bells on an invisible bagpipe.Gypsy, let me lift your skirt and have a look at you. Open in my ancient fingers the blue rose of your womb. Precosia throws the tambourine and runs away in terror. But the virile wind pursues her with his breathing and burning sword.
Sicer pa še vedno nisem dojela, da te ne bo več vsak dan. Dosegljive. Da se ne bomo več skupaj smejali, vsak dan. In da ne bo več dolgih kav, sedenja ob prazni skodelici. In tavanja po strojni 
The sea darkens and roars, while the olive trees turn pale. The flutes of darkness sound, and a muted gong of the snow.Precosia, run, Precosia! Or the green wind will catch you! Precosia, run, Precosia! And look how fast he comes! A satyr of low-born stars with their long and glistening tongues. Precosia, filled with fear, now makes her way to that house beyond the tall green pines where the English consul lives.
Ponosna sem nate, neizmerno…in glej, da uresničiš vse želje. Kilometri so zanemarljivi, vseeno sem s teboj.
Alarmed by the anguished cries, three riflemen come running, their black capes tightly drawn, and berets down over their brow. The Englishman gives the gypsy a glass of tepid milk and a shot of Holland gin which Precosia does not drink. And while she tells them, weeping, of her strange adventure, the wind furiously gnashes against the slate roof tiles.
Federico Garcia Lorca - The Gypsy and the Wind
In povej mi, kdo bo prišel na vodko in štirijezično debato? Kdo se bo z menoj smejal groznim stvarem? In kdo me bo prijel za roko, ko me bo zaradi neprimernih izjav zabolelo?
Ogromno si mi dala…in ostaja grenka praznina.
P.S.: Upam, da so copatki udobni in da se že čez dva meseca vidimo. Lupčka
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4 odgovorov na “Pogrešam te”
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lepo napisano.. Sem se kar zamislila
Tut jest jo bom pogrešov!
sniff sniff, danes gre dez in nisem na plazi, sem v cyberju, kjer sem si kupila deset ur interneta. hunnnnnnnyyyy tenkjusomuch 4 this.
i miss u….
btw, preden sem sla sem parkirala pred strojno, v spomin na nikoli videno menzo…
hehe srčece moje…prav si naredila
In sploh ne veš kolk sem ti fouš, ko zmrzujem v slo…brrrrrrrrr
lupčka ti pa pošiljam, ja