|
|
Love front
What we learnt of love was from
novels, stories, and poems. With poverty, frustration, and narrow
horizons we began to fall in love at dreadful ease, and suffer
much more easily. Despite that we clung to that love which has no
life and existence outside books. Defeats in love destroyed many
of us, dispersed a lot into vagabondage, and caused many others to
disappear. Despite that, from time to time some warrior appears; a
young man in most cases, waving a tattered flag, mocking the
crushing weight of reality, and its bloody grinding mill. He seems
sure that his anguish is more valuable than the Mercedes cars
which besiege his poor girlfriend, and that true feelings are a
mortal weapon which it suffices to draw for the battle to be
settled. We are the disabled victims of this war, feeling for
our scars, meanwhile drinking cheap wine with anonymous
prostitutes in dark pubs, and pitying every young man who surges
from the suburbs of towns riding a gifted poem, and entering the
front defenceless.
|
|
