The breeze of the smoke should not be heard,
he is in a sickbay to heal his lungs,
though the note did not reach him in time,
so he does his drill of piles per day.
‘I’m on the path that no one came back from,
I’m sure of this as you can see in my bit,
where I drown these trials in the hard fumes
like I did in the days of my spent youth.’
No one is in his room at the time of his words,
the ward thinks he talks to his ghosts,
most of his friends left this world in here,
the ward sees he forms his lines for them.
He did not leave this place for health yet.
‘I still hold out hope for the good times.’
Mitja Lovše is a writer, a performer and a director from Slovenia. He works within the fields of theatre, film, television and literature. He’s still alive.