UNTITLED I

There is a man who waits for nothing

Under the skin of a brutally damaged self-image

Breaking windowpanes with his bare hands

And feeling the pain of hundreds of mothers whose children were buried this morning after a mass murder shooting

There is a girl, a shy one, coming home alone tonight

Afraid of the night, bus stops and dark hallways

And there’s a boy being bullied at school

For being himself and misunderstood

And there’s a dog as there’s a cat walking down the streets

Looking for a home as the troops crawling back to their tents in the middle of the night

Eating sand and fighting scorpions more than any other beings

And there’s a poet alone in the dark

Waiting for the dawn, longing for the dusk

Kept awoken, uneasy, intolerant

To the contemplation of the world

As every role is played by actors and actresses who didn’t choose to be there

To be fooled, mocked, mistreated, endangered and harmed

While they follow a story that doesn’t apply to their expectations

Unable to change it, no matter how much they try

And deluded by the possibility of free will

Paying for every move, and moving from pain to pain

Till the end of days…