Seconds Before

Violently I woke up,
My chest started hurting last night
And I went to sleep with a deep feeling of death

I remember dreaming about a long aisle
I remember dreaming about running
I still feel the warm tears on my face
And the heavy breathe.

Seconds before the infamous hand squeezed my heart
I was petrified by ignorance
I didn’t know who I was
Where I was
I did not recognize my hands
Seconds before

I remember being carried
I remember people screaming at me
My eyes were open
And still I did not see

My mouth went dry
Trying to speak
They covered my mouth
And banned me

Seconds before.

the duty

  

The duty of a poet
Is to still time
Squeeze the moment out
Unknot the emotion
That ties despair

The duty of a poet
Is to hug entire days,
To behold sorrows and sons
Build up aired bricks
And paint them in black and white

The duty of a poet
Is to branch off
And to go back through melancholy,
To shake pillows full of tears
And write on them.

Thanks to heaven for the routine

If you knew, all of you
How my ritual begins every morning
And
Which are the steps for me to wake up.
First,
I close the windows
(I don’t like the day to peep at me)
Then I close my eyes
(for no one to see me)
And then, like everybody else,
Or as all of you should
I thank to heaven
And breathe.

Our Father

Our Father,
Who art in Heaven,
hallowed by Thy name,
Thy kingdom come,
Thy will be done
on earth as it is in Heaven
because we, who are down here
are all
weak, weak and vulnerable.
That being on the verge of reality
Scares me.
We have left everything on Thy hands,
Our destiny, our lives and work,
From there emerged our weakness.
Give us this day our daily bread,
That there is a famine of love
Everywhere.
and forgive us our trespasses
as we (sometimes) forgive those who trespass against us.
Without knowing the difference between forgiveness
And the relief of forgiving ourselves.
And lead us not into temptation
Of being conformists in life
Of letting our humanity aside.
Deliver us from evil,
From disbelief
From opportunist tears
From man himself
Who has not learnt to look into other’s souls
Who just becomes a lie
And in nights of despair
Is in search for his hands
And kneels to pray.

Amen.

Song to Veronica

On dirty feet
She goes
With her head straight up,
The wind cuts her face.

She prays every night
For an eternal joy
Though she falls in love with the void

There is neither place nor soul
For her to cuddle to,
Her shame keeps on growing
But she comes back home at night.

She went into churches
On her knees she confessed it
Temples strangely looked at her,
But she unfurled her arms to the unlimited heaven.

‘I’ve come back to write on thousands of stars
What dreams have consumed
I remember unspoken words
But they do not know if they are only isolation,
Or remembrance’

Uncertain will be her past
And at this moment she is crossed by a tear
That slashes her in little samples,
Though she reinvents herself, like a wail.

There is neither place nor soul
For her to cuddle to,
Her shame keeps on growing
But she comes back home at night.