the brickless bricklayer


I am a broken brick stone

thrown by the roadside

next to an old railroad.

I lie in the grass

cooper red in the warm golden sun

soaked in the pouring rain

and I dream.

Sometimes a bricklayer would pick me up

with his big worked hands

examine me shortly

then throw me back on the ground

and I sigh.

I watch the cars, the clouds

the people passing by

all coming from and going somewhere

part of a built structure

that can’t be torn down

and I sigh

and I dream

of Taj Mahal

and Saint Peter’s Dome

of smiling with my freckled face

from the front wall of an old English house

or even from the front gate

at the end of a narrow asphalt road

inviting the guests in the wild garden

I dream of a small apartment block

made of rows upon rows of brick stones

all shining under a cape of mortar

happy to be stuck together

with their perfect edges.

but I’m a toothless old brick stone

thrown by the roadside

looking at my dreams, at my hopes

at my life passing by

waiting for a ride

in a steam train

on the old railroad

to the town of the brickless bricklayer.


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10 thoughts on “the brickless bricklayer

  1. Very cleverly written,I have always thought that words are the building blocks of our lives,our past,present and future are all created by our words and thoughts,you have encapsulated that perfectly I think,well done.


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