Social Poetry by Oana Maroti
The city is buzzing with tourism and nightlife.
We are both destroyed by bureaucracy, no roof, in the cold, in a tent.
A few birds are trying to communicate with each other early in the morning, but there is too much noise.
Cars constantly passing and groups of people disturbing the refugee tents, yelling: Wake Up! male groups, laughing, talking rubbish, and behaving dangerously.
After a few minutes, another drunk group passed by the refugee tents, this time yelling Curva! from 2 in 2 words, and being disturbing as well. It´s not safe to be out here, yet it is not a matter of choice.
The night fell silent, and the carduelis mini-birds got down to business, organizing themselves into techno trills. For 20 minutes, we could diminish the self-defense acoustic awareness and rest.
Underground Art & Literature - open access to culture 