Special crockery by Marina Zrnic©

Many dead insects were lying on the floor 

all my luggage was packed 

when I once again said: “We have to go.” 

There will never be pots with flowers or any special crockery. 

There is no time for the teapots. 

We are without the time, 

wandering around with a big clock around our neck.

I feel it in my guts. 

I have always had a lot of guts. 

When writing, when chatting, when drinking. 

I have had it all, except the crockery. 

We’ve learnt Hebrew and Latin, Old Slavic and Old Castillian. 

I told you a 6000 years old story of a boy and his master. 

I believe that stones don’t lie. 

Neither do I. 

We will never have any special crockery.