NOWHERE - awaking under that bridge

 Awaking under that bridge

And so, now, as I open my eyes, here I’m, under this bridge, this viaduct, this platform, whatsoever, and then, there I go, already jumping off from this balcony, already advancing in between the cement pillars, bypassing the trickles, some gaps, and soon, becoming aware that I’m not alone here, I mean, there are others next to the pillars… quaint figures stretched out on their cradles of rubbish, rotten sofas, improvised canapes, etc. And thus, as I pass by on their side I even notice that despite some of them having their eyes opened, or half-opened, they do not seem to get aware of my presence,this  is, as I go through, they do not look here, they just keep staring up, to the ceiling, this leaking platform, and while looking up, some are even grunting words that we can’t understand, others snoring, others just silent… and so, I do not dare to approach them, this is, I just keep advancing in between the pillars, and thus, while advancing, I’m also passing by some mounds of rubbish, some sculptures made of scrap metal, etc, and then, while I go through this confuse curtains of smoke I even can hear some kind of interferences, like a battery-operated radio buzzing, rippling around a detuned station… and as it goes, in a while, I’m already reaching the soft bonfire responsible for the curtains of smoke I have just passed, and there, in front of the so-said bonfire, it’s actually an old man with long orangish beard, now  bedding down, touching the embers with his own hands, this is, rearranging them, and while doing this, he is also whispering some soft words in the direction of this very fire, and then, pouring some bluish clay pots over this same embers, and as it goes, when he notice my presence, instantly, he actually try to pass me one of this pots, but, as I try to hold it, it is so hot that I spill all its content over the fire, and so, as this content(liquid) impregnates through the coals and the embers, the smoke begins to spread around, becoming more and more disturbed, and then, as this curtains of smoke spread around, there are already someone complaining on the other side of this bridge, and then, in a while, someone is actually approaching, this is, someone actually pulling some kind of trolley, now going through the curtains of smoke,and again,as he/she comes by, we can hear that noises, like a battery-operated radio buzzing, rippling around a detuned station… and then, two more figures are actually approaching the previous one, one jumping and screaming, and the other trying to steal the content inside the trolley, making some percussion with it, some metallic sounds, and so, as all these three figures are actually going through the curtains of smoke, disappearing and appearing, then, the guy here by the fire, he also stands up, and there he goes, running in the directions of that same figures going through the smoke, and then, all the four, maybe give, are actually fighting or doing some kind of dancing, I’m not sure, and as this happens, they are also emitting some onomatopoeias, nothing that can be understood, and me, here I’m, staring into the reddish embers, looking through the fire, blowing on the curtains of smoke, rubbing my eyes, and then, I also stand up, and there I go, moving onto the opposite direction of the curtains of smoke, already leaving this strange encampment, this bridge, this platform, and then, going down some kind of slope, and there at the bottom, pissing over the herbs by the creek… and so, as I stay here, pissing on this creek, I’m actually watching the spectacle of the tail-wagging mallards floating over these mishmash waters, some of them now actually coming out of what once were ordinary household appliances, this is, rusty corpses of old refrigerators, stoves, microwaves... all being disintegrated by the acidity of these muddy waters… and thus, while standing here, looking at all this, I may say, this whole scenery gives me some sort of joy… some sort of happiness, somehow, it fulfills me, and, I don’t 6 need to know, I don’t need to tell you why. And so, as it goes, I even go down a bit further, getting closer to this mirage, and then, here/there they go again, now passing on my side, I mena, the black mallards with small white patches on their necks, and so, as they softly slide away, there are also these chirrups, birds I actually can’t see, but, when I pucker my own lips and begin mimicking their own melodies, in a while, here they are, already replying even with more praise and exuberance on their chantings, but, times passes and, I still can’t see them,  this is, despite the soft tremor of the shrubs and brambles down there, on the other side of the brooke, I still can't see that damn birds… so, I can’t really understand if they are truly real, or a mere representation of my fertile imagination.