People people
                         they go around like pigs
                         showcasing their fancy suits
                         proclamating the biggest trend

Jewelry, then food, then them big fast automobiles

Those are the priorities by order

Getting greedy
Getting fat
Gettin' Gettin' GETTIN'
                                
                                 In a monstruous ball of meat!
                                 With a monstruous will of plastic!
                                 Monstruously stupid!
                                              Monstruous,­
                                              monstruous...

I'm­ gettin' tired
But I'm afraid,
They are just getting started.

A couple being playful
Holding hands occasionally,
A man tuning his guitar in the sand by the sea,
A lonely woman coming back to the hotel
White plastic bag in hand,
Cars swooping the yellowed
Street silhouettes

And the man who can't sleep
Because his body's clock is upside down
Because there were 37ºC during the day
And body can't be refreshed by hot salty water
Because he dreamed and she was there,
More time than he needed
With such tenderness which couldn't be imagined

And the Mediterranean is getting bluer by the minute
And the boats now visible
And the guitar player never left the sand
And the man who can't sleep will remain awaken
By a dream which had put him to sleep.

It's 5:54 a.m. and the hot salty water bashes against the sand.
Now, the first cars emerge from the night-time lights.
I see a couple,
Him white shirt
Her black shirt
Looking like tourists,
They have the same desoriented expression as I do.

Couple blocks away I watch the red neon
Blinking from the distance,
Next thing I know I'm traveling through
                    each yellow light
                    each window
                    every spit of sea foam
                    every palm tree,

On top of another hotel
I found a room with lights on, yet
No one seems to be dazzling
                         in the dark
Gazing the horizon and the dark sea
All by himself...
                                        ...besides this hopeless fool
                                        waiting for the sunrise

The mountains stand like giant ghosts behind the shore,
The buildings trap the sand
Their electric lights such vigilants of the sea
Motorbikes as little dispatchment troops
Cars parked as sleeping cops.

The buildings, so aware of the sea,
Forget the glory of rocky tall ghosts from beyond,
Their valleys turned shopping malls and residential areas.

Maduro keeps Chávez's tyranny
                           own people's blood is deemed success,
Putin keeps shaking Trump's hand,
Japan is joining the dispute
While N. Korea plays cowboys' toys in its corner
                             cornering citizens,

'Terrorists' keep making the headlines
Yet, journalists are the ones spreading terror,

I just want to eat my hazelnut müesli satisfied
And turning the TV off won't help much.

Nurturing holy Mother why don't you stand
                                          for your fallen brethren,
                                                                     burned
                                                                     choped in half
                                                                     disposed of their prideful height?

You seem to wait, though it's not patience you have.
It's sure,
You have it all sought and won
You don't seek
                  We do foolishly,
                  trying to transform you but in the end,

In the end you rise imponent
                           your majestocity as phoenix among ashes...
...our ashes.

I'm a man of the night
I've been branded
My poetry serves no purpose to the world.
I've not been branded a hero,
I've'd seen how those all end:
                    Unquestionable statues of bronze or gold
                  or rather forgotten,
              disposed after 2 weeks of fame after-death.
I want neither.
I'm no hero, no. I'm no gigantic bearded poet
                                         Hemingway shot himself
                                                         ­       I couldn't muster courage
                                         or decandence.

I. made. to.
               Stand.
Shoulder to shoulder.
Serving my servers.
Out of love.
I carry. As they carry.
              as I get. Carried.
As one shelters me this moment;
As other. Eloquent. Frightening. Dashing and Proud.
                 as she said;
                 titles are in fact...