Citat na drumu

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Misao

Obukla sam košulju što mi skriva ručne zglobove. Palcem sam proširila rupicu za dugme i nehotičnim trzajima prstičnih zglobova pocijepala rub rukava. Savila sam glavu tako da mi je vrh nosa doticao prsnu kost. Zaštitila sam se i utonula u tišinu. Više nije bilo gnušanja.

Misao

cula sam jauk u nijemoj komori.

upalila sam svjetlo.

pogledu mi je umakla

neka bijela ptica.

obod njenog krila dotakao mi je kapke

rasjekao ih na pola.

cula sam svoj plac u nijemoj komori.

i svoj stid.

i ugusila sam ga

i povratila sam muk.

Citat na drumu

Once that dull noise and footstep were particularly fearful, and I asked my mother, while she took us away: “Eh, mamma, who is this naughty Sandman, who always drives us away from papa? What does he look like?” “There is no Sandman, dear child,” replied my mother. “When I say the Sandman comes, I only mean that you are sleepy and cannot keep your eyes open,–just as if sand had been sprinkled into them.” This answer of my mother's did not satisfy me–nay, in my childish mind the thought soon matured itself that she only denied the existence of the Sandman to hinder us from being terrified at him. Certainly I always heard him coming up the stairs. Full of curiosity to hear more of this Sandman, and his particular connection with children, I at last asked the old woman who tended my youngest sister what sort of man he was. “Eh, Natty,” said she, “do you not know that yet? He is a wicked man, who comes to children when they will not go to bed, and throws a handful of sand into their eyes, so that they start out bleeding from their heads. These eyes he puts in a bag and carries them to the half-moon to feed his own children, who sit in the nest up yonder, and have crooked beaks like owls with which they may pick up the eyes of the naughty human children.”

  • E. T. W. Hoffmann, The Sandman

 

Misao

Moje lice samo je odraz lica koje poznajes iz proslosti. Sigurna sam da, dok koracas iza mene, zamisljas da se to lice skriva ispod moje kose.

Cini mi se da mi se rijeci guse u sapatu koji sama iznova stvaram.

Tvoje lice odraz je fiktivnog lika o kom pisem. Kad sklopim oci, njegovo lice mi je jasnije od tvog. Unatoc tomu, tvoj je pogled bistar, samo je tvoje lice lijepo.