Anxiety before anxiety,
sorrow before sorrow,
word before word.
I think it will arrive sooner
than I expected…

Had I felt differently?
Had I known better?
That “thing” was imprinted
on the heart of each child
before it was forgotten.

The Z boson? A particle of God?
Inner awareness?
Lightness and compassion
screaming: keep going!
Forgiveness is a gift
for healing.

I prefer to withdraw.
Foreseeing the future
is too painful.

I feel safe in my inertia,
my comfort zone, not acting
but that intrusive voice
keeps shouting: don’t stop!

If it weren’t the fear of fearing,
sorrow before sorrow,
word before word…
They don’t bother me anymore.
For different circumstances,
I’m ready now.

In troubled times, eruptions split the sky.
When the two cosmic lines converge,
the technological order unveils itself.

The cycle repeats in another scene,
endlessly turning.
Don’t lend it your memories, Ulisses.

The door of the Panopticon is crossed.
The glass, soundless, shatters.
Tomorrow dissolves into a quantum chance,
screaming conflicting images.

Don’t be lost in lonely silence.
Let go of melancholy.
Come back home, to the real people,
where hope lingers despite the inky fog.
There, you will feel better.

Each morning I rise,
I awaken to a present,
neatly wrapped in sunlight,
and gently laid upon my lap,
awaiting its grand opening.

A parcel of intangibility,
a package of inherent promise,
bound by ribbons of time,
and bestowed to me
upon each new dawn unfolding.

It is the gift I loathe,
its unwrapping I deeply scorn,
never failing to haunt me,
as each morning I’m presented
with the gift I cannot reject.