The Smoke

The morning when I wake up, walk down the lawn, raise my hands up … and when I open my eyes, look around and then look up … that were the time when I start my day saying “Well painted!” The beauty of the light, the cold smoke filling your lawn in the morning, emptying the tiredness of yesterday from your body with a smile.

That’s something which shouldn’t be missed.

The moving craziness of the city, cars moving fast past you especially when there is water clogging, honking down every minute, don't care to give a way even for ambulances, political rallies delay your day at the office and a meter distance shot at someone's who is trying to make it to hospital, the heavy dark air of the vehicle forcibly inhaled in your body every minute you are out there.

That’s something which we don’t deserve.

Clean spaces around you and guys cleaning the floors, the pantry, the restroom, the coffee machine to keep it clean; no extra icon on desktop, totally organized files, worksheet on the wall and meetings in calendar; healthy neighbors, good friends, sensibly behaved lobbies ... but something which is not seen or told as clearly as it actually look or sound; some kind of dark fog in them … and there are more words between the lines then in the lines. Thing changing faster that the clock ticks.

That’s something which shouldn’t be there.

Some thoughts in the head, some ideas flowing through the brain, something you want to change, and something you want to contribute, something you like to add, air flowing above your head and you feel you can make something out of it.

That’s the something which got to be in a shape.

Then there is some smoke in mouth reducing some part in lung capacity, bringing something closure and filling some part of stomach … some place where is doesn’t belong, some place which doesn’t deserve it and calling someone to which it’s related.

That’s something which got to stop.

Its in different form and in different way ... the good, the bad, the ugly, the raw and the killer.

But knowing them is not the question … and knowing them is not the answer either.
Adieu,
SA