big cities, bright lights

v slovenščini

Velemesta sijejo.
Divje se vrtijo njihovi vrtiljaki. So moj absint (zelene oči, ki nimajo konca). Noč in dan luči (nikoli ne utihnejo). Noč in dan glasovi (nikoli ne ugasnejo). Noč in dan vonji (rožnati jastogi, posuti z bleščicami in smetišča nedoživetih sreč). Vse se sproti razblinja. V atome. V nič. Božanski občutek neobstoja. V vesolju neskončnih teles. Nihče se ne zmeni zame. Nikogar ne briga, da sem. Ali da me ni.

Velemesta so mikavna.
Ponoči blodim po tekočih trakovih avenij. Temne sence igrajo razvaline minulih krajev. Naskrivaj prisluškujem. Škripajočemu cviljenju, ko se trgajo osi življenja. Tuljenju izgubljenih kompasov za bivanji, ki jih ni več. Mogoče pa je samo rap črnega božanstva na zadnji postaji podzemne.

Velemesta so vroča.
Prve ljubezni. Zadnje ljubezni. Prepovedane ljubezni. Smrtonosne ljubezni. Komaj rojeni poljubi. Pogledi, ki se držijo za roke. Ah, srečne roke… Zmagoslavje čutnosti. Pohotni ples divjega jemanja in dajanja. Vodometi strasti. Skrivni orgazmi ljubimcev v tunelu noči: koža, ki se blešči od neustavljivega poželenja. Blagoslovljena radost popolnih predaj.

Trepetaš? Se bojiš? Saj ni praznine. Saj ni lupine. Vedno si obdan. Z nekom. Vedno je kdo. Velika mesta so kakor mogočna reka. Kjer se vsakič zliješ z drugo množico. Saj ne umreš. Samo ne veš. Kdo stoji za teboj. Kdo se s slastjo naslanja nate v nabitem vagonu metroja. Postaven fant? Poletno dekle ali starka s koso? Ne veš. In se zapreš. In greš. In izgineš. Ti je tesno? Ti je hladno?

Velemesta pišejo svojo poezijo.
Tu in tam ne razumem besed drugega predmestja. Z raskavimi toni opevajo ljubezni in hrepenenja po prostranstvih puščav. Samo sanjam lahko.

Velemesta so dobrotljiva.
Svoboden sem. Živim. Ko se utapljam, pojem. Močan sem. Možat. Diham s polnimi pljuči. Čutim bitje srca v sozvočju z rjovenjem sveta. V sozvočju z milijoni drugih ljudi. Vsi drugačni, vsi enaki. Vsi ljudje so ustvarjeni enaki: vsi so ranljivi.

Velemesta so moje ekstaze.
Na vseh celinah jih imam, popotnik skozi prostor in čas. Sem kot stari mornar z ljubicami v vseh pristaniščih. Jokam, ko moram proč. A že ko odhajam, se vračam. Čutim, kako me zapeljujejo. Z omamnimi stihi siren me vabijo nazaj, da znova padem v njihovo naročje. Ker sem ves njihov. Za vedno.

in english

Big cities gleam.
Their carousels whirl wildly. They are my absinthe (green eyes with no end). Lights, day and night (they never become silent). Voices, day and night (they never extinguish). Day and night, scents (tinsel-spangled pink lobsters and dumps of abandoned happinesses). Everything vanishes at once. In atoms. In nothingness. In a universe of never-ending bodies. I am nobody's business. Nobody cares about me. Whether I exist. Or whether I don't.

Big cities are alluring.
In the night I ramble on endless tapes of the avenues. Dark shadows play the ruins of bygone places. I listen secretly. To the creaky whimpering, when the axes of life tear apart. To the lost compasses that wail for beings that are gone. But maybe it's just a rap of a black god at a subway terminus.

Big cities are hot.
First loves. Last loves. Forbidden loves. Lethal loves. Scarcely born kisses. Gazes that walk hand in hand. Oh, fortunate hands… A triumph of sensuality. A lewd dance of ferocious taking and giving. Fountains of passions. Clandestine orgasms of lovers in a tunnel of nights: skin that glistens because of an infinite lust. A blessed gaiety of total surrenders.

You are shivering? Are you scared? But there is no emptiness. No shell. You are always surrounded. By somebody. There is always a body. Big cities are like mighty rivers. Where you always flow into a different crowd. You do not die. You only don't know. Who is leaning against you in a crammed carriage of a subway. A shapely lad? A summer girl or the old woman with her scythe? You do not know. So you close up. And go. And disappear. Are you anxious? Are you cold?

Big cities write poetry of their own.
Sometimes I do not understand the words of other suburbs. They chant of loves and longings for vastness of deserts with coarse tones. I can dream only.

Big cities are benevolent.
I am free. I live. When I am drowning, I sing. I am strong. I am virile. I breathe deeply. I feel my heart beating in harmony with the roar of the world. In harmony with millions of other people. All different, all equal. All the men are created equal: they are all vulnerable.

Big cities are my ecstasies.
There they are, on every continent, for me, a traveler through time and space. I am like an ancient mariner, having a mistress in every port. I always weep when I have to leave. But when I am leaving, I am already coming back. I can feel their seduction. With fascinating verses of the sirens they invite me to fall into their arms again. Because I am all theirs. For good.

© Aleks 2006