there is plenty of talk tonight in the bar
about almost everything as usual
with the exception of the old secrets
we don’t want to remember them anymore
as we create unknowingly new ones every moment
also to be forgotten by future generations just the same
and at a glance it feels like that there are no secrets at all
only the bar tables stay sticky as they always have been
and the swell of the noise of ninety nine odd voices
gradually transforms into dreamy silence in my tranced out head
too much to take in altogether
smiles all around me
some of them vary and worried and dreaming
trying hard to cross over to a better place
maybe not in high definition format
like on the wide screen television on the wall
now ever present observer of the drinking crowd
but some of the hopes are even not in Technicolour
but long for an old fashioned black and white romance for a night
maybe a week – maybe even longer – maybe for ever
ever present secret dreams
as the drink fueled conversation rolls on ferociously
to ever louder numbing noise levels
and even later
finally at home
I mumble to myself
so why are we often sleeping
with the light on
and why are we rarely listening
to our own song