

The whole square was empty

The whole square was empty,
the whole square was a painting,
no one walking there,
no one sitting,
or having a hamburger,

the whole square was empty,
remains of the last call to Faith,
remains of the last words I heard,
the square was empty,
so quiet,
so empty,



like a painting hanging on the wall,
so quiet,
so empty,
I could listen to the last echoes of honesty,
it was still there,
under tons of stones and gold,
under tons of wood and blood,

the whole square was empty,
so quiet,
even pigeons were not at home,
even the paving was clean of rice and pigeon droppings,
even our souls were clean of promises and dirty words,

the whole squere was so empty,
so quiet,
merchants of Faith,
merchants of postcards and plastic stuff,
they all were forever gone,
I even doubted whether they were real or just a joke,
even the water on the fountain was cleaner,

remains of pompous lifes I could see like ghosts,
stepping into the hall,
like scarlet and dark shadows,
too coward to come into the light,
too ashamed to show their faces,
too greedy to walk with humans,
remains of their pompous lavender, Calvin Klein, Hugo Boss smell,

the whole square was so empty,
quiet as the Spring fields on a Sunny morning,
quiet as lying under an old oak on a Sunny morning,
the whole square was empty,
it was like it should have been,
from the first day,
much more smaller,
much more warmer,
much more human,
the whole square was empty...

Good morning