She lives next door,
she never talks.
She never cooks.
She never has visitors.

She never comes out,
I only saw her once or twice,
not even sure if it was her.
Maybe she is hiding.
Maybe there is something I don't know.

She doesn't go to work,
I doubt she has a job.
How does she pay her rent?!
Or maybe there is something
I don't need to know.

She doesn't make any noise,
she never gets on anyone's nerves,
no one ever complains about her.
And still she makes everyone around
move out.

Or maybe there is something
I don't want to know.

Love doesn't exist,
until it comes.
Then is too late
to take anything back.

Too late
to leave the home
and hide
under the stone.

Waist band
shaping the waste land.
Wait, time!

I asked my dead friend:
'Have you been to Heaven?'
Of course! - he exclaimed!
Many times. And you? 'Never...'

'How was it?' Nothing special 
 - he was quick to admit.
Overpriced, tourists trap.
I prefer it here, where I live.  

I asked: 'Are you serious?!'
He replied: Yes, my friend.

Then we went for a coffee.
It was a beautiful day.

Maybe it wasn't him,
who was making decisions,
maybe he was just filling the orders
of his supervisors.
What if there was bigger God above him?

Maybe he didn't know about anything,
nobody briefed him
on what was going on down here.

Wha if he is innocent
and can't take the responsibility
for injustice and pain?

What if he never had the right
to an advocate?

The motto
of one of the Inquisitors of The Church was:

"We would gladly burn a hundred,
if just one of them is guilty".

Sounds familiar?

They have children,
they have homes,
they have money,
they have jobs,
they have good cars,
and many more things they want to have.

I have paper and pen,
I have my poems,
that's enough.