This poem will coagulate
like blood, staining our black land
with unheard prophecies
as i try to write you
what was taken away.
look at us:
the wind broke over our skin
and we stretched our muscles
to feel our perfect nothing;
we lost our blunt knives
and we can't fight anymore.
consider this.
a river closed my eyes
long before i could see
the spirit of things
and the future is invariant.
ignore our weightless moment.
we are too old to believe
in a new order, in success
and development.
yes, we are now.
it is with much pain
i see that something is missing.
we dreamed about replaceable possibilities.
but what happened
as matter of fact?
this growl in our throats;
send me an antidote
against disappointment.
i know anger is your language.
things lost and damned:
history doesn't exist for us.
history never existed in this land.
here is a careful chaos
and i can try to write
but will you read after
all those years of pure preparation
and mistakes?
let me tell you
one simple truth:
our messy passion deceived us
and we still lie naked in the space
between my breast, weaving words,
speeches,and distant unknown idioms
for those like us.
what we have now is just a rose
in our hands.
face it like a weapon,like a poem
disarming the enemy.
