On the solemn day when the present order of things would pass away,
I could count all your bones.
Incense was burned to the sin of others,
Arsenic powder was made of the agonized souls,
Life performed its audit.
The clouds march without direction,
The sun refused to appear,
And the universe contemplates all of this.
Your mind clouded by sophistry,
I keep it in sealed drawers,
At the door of a forgotten funeral.
You scoured the dictionary…but you never found happiness.
Long days in confessional
Between the sea and the sky… in search of a vibrant corner in the soul.
Disappear from my eyes,
I don’t give thanks for a rose that bloomed in a soil of revenge.
My world is allergic to sulphur,
I chose to forget everything to survive,
And we grew up crying inside ourselves.
I don’t know why they still offer me roots,
When what I most desire,
It is freeing myself from myself.
All Rights Reserved