Road. The way.

To get home, at my parents’, I need 9 hours on the road. I was there for 3 days, my father launched a new poetry book.

A poet is one who means something more to people, is one who lasts after death with an inhuman force. Every new book prepares him for immortality, if he’s good enough. This is how, with every new book, I can see my father dying a little. It’s an inspiring view, but not easy to take at all.

To my beloved son,
To find himself again at anytime between the covers of this book, a part from the soul of the autor.
With all the love,
Dad.

I went to the graveyard with my family. I already have 3 grand parents burried there. They raised me and now I’m lighting candles on they tomb. I grow older and they watch me from the skies.

The cimitery is huge. Thousands of crosses look at me from all sides. For a blink, I visioned something impressive. It looked like the crosses are living people, minding their business in a strange town. They’re like people on the streets, hurrying to somewhere, being late or busy or just walking. And indeed, that cimitery holds the genrations before us, those who were the town when I wasn’t even born. Every hundred years burries a town and the people are completely anew.

I can hardly wait to get home again, but, strangely, every visit get’s me further and further from my parents. The eight years we’ve been apart transformed me so much. the base is what my parents gave me, but the rest is so much different. My values are harder and harder to understand for them. we’re getting apart every time i go home. but they hold on supporting me on a road they cannot possibly understand.

When I left, my mother shed a tear. It’s not necessarily becauseI was leaving. It was also because she’s remains there, for a road that only has one direction, the one of getting older and older to the sky.

When I hold her she says you’re leaving and I stay with the strangers. A tear is too small, a smile in unappropriate. A hug is transforming, from sadness to sharing and to a small force.

It’s possible that they are leaving, that I stay with the strangers.

I think I’ve just become young enough to fight, but old enough to admit that this road can only take me to a seasoning of my body and to a bearevement of my soul.

Life has strict rules and i am going by them. When I left, the road opened widely, I saw the horizon at the end of it. It’s so true that I started together with that road, back in Darabani. It’s so true that I’ll reach that far point where my road touches the sky.

The road from Darabani alternates hills with valeys, ups and downs, sky and earth, life and death. And it takes me far away, from a place I don’t know too much, to a place I don’t know at all.

You’re leaving and i stay here with the strangers.

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