WHITE CONCRETE WORLD BELOW.
The curtains are dancing to the song of the wind.
The wind which is warm but not dry
and yet not humid enough to make you sweat.
Seven children are calling, from outside of your window,
they are laughing while playing with a ball
should you go? should you join them?
You wave back at them, a signal to wait for your arrival
and you run down the stairs and out the blue door
to the white concrete world below.
They play in an alley, surrounded by shop houses and buildings
making the streets and lanes their ground.
The parks are all destroyed and the grass all gone
but still a child`s will to play is strong.
They spot you and throw you the red rubber ball, as large as a basketball hoop.
Now you`re `it`.
they scatter while laughing and you giggle while chasing
in the white concrete world below.
After so much running, chasing, screaming and panting
You all settle by the sidewalk of a familiar street.
Sharing stories and jokes never cease to lose its fun
and with friends time always seems to run.
A lady comes out of her shop, a grocery shop.
All of you surround her, and together you all greet her.
This causes her to grin, and she gives each of you a fizzy drink.
"My favourite!" you exclaim, as she hands you a Coke,
and you smile a thanks with a mouth filled with crooked teeth.
All this happening in the white concrete world below.
It`s getting dark, and your buddies begin to yawn
you know it`s time to go.
You do not need a clock, or even a watch
to tell you its well past seven.
You say your goodbyes with teases and smiles
and back to your home you run
leaving the white concrete world below.
At home, it is different. The feeling is different. Life is different.
The atmosphere turns from joy to sorrow.
No one takes notice of your return
and you see your dying mother beside the fire
just where you had left her.
Your father is still at work, he only comes home well past midnight.
and this causes you to miss the white concrete world below.
Silently you sigh, and make yourself some porridge,
and some for your mother too.
You stroke the fire, to keep her weak body warm,
and lovingly feed her the bowl of goo.
She does not realize what goes around her, but that`s fine.
you`re used to it, she`s been this way ever since you dare to remember.
Later, you clean her, and kiss her, and lay on her small bed beside her.
Then you stroke her scarce brown hair and tell her
you tell her a tale, a story.
Which involves the white concrete world below.
You have no books of fairy tales, you use your own imagination.
You tell her a story of two mouse brothers, who defeated a rat as big as a cat
and slayed a dog that ate their supper.
A story set in the town you so dearly know.
But she does not react, she does not ponder.
Then you tell her a joke, in hopes that she`ll at least snicker
But when you look into her eyes, their as dead as a drawer.
So you start to sob, then you cry, followed by a wail
even if you well know no self pity would return her.
Then you realize how ridiculous you`re behaving and calm yourself,
away from the concrete world below.
Eventually your father returns home
and looks at your mother limp on the bed.
then at you who is sitting beside her,
you are staring out of the window.
Without a word he bows his head in frustration
and heads to his room for a nap.
You notice his presence, but do not greet him
you just wonder to yourself
"How long till he packs up and decides to abandon you?"
and you crawl beside your mother
and let dreams and darkness engulf you.
Oh! How you miss the white concrete world below.