Uncertainties arise every look:
of doubt, of despise, of madness...
... of fury, of aggression and of extermination.

Offenses are spat out
by similares mouths
to those of whom the words
strike so cruelly.

Too pure for me;
this reality is too terrible.
It makes me die blind of facts
– acts on behalf of peace:
false, inconvenient... and ordinary peace!

Men **** each other every day,
but they never did it so ruthlessly
as they do currently. And all is so insensitive.
I doubt a lot of our hearts.

Reflections are what I have left,
because I'm too fragile to change.
And I don't wanna lose myself in this world
neither I wish to write about its reality.

Too crazy for us;
this thought is too inhuman.
It makes me cry because of acts
– facts told by a bloke:
irreal, stale... and poetic bloke!

To a friend*

I'm ready to travel
through your person.
I'm ready to unveil
your dirtiest secrets.
I'm ready to rediscover
the role of soul
– heart and feelings.

And if you still believe
who I'm an astronaut,
I ask you, my dear,
not to lose your faith in it.
Because even though I'm not one,
I like to pretend in order to cheer you up.
And we need to be more heavenly!

Looking for something better
than the existence of us two.
I'm just looking for something
which makes me stay longer.
Looking for something worse
than the absence of us two.

We've had something...
something easy to love,
but, easy to lose.
We've had everything...
and neither that was enough.
We've had nothing...
nothing by which to remember.

The orange paints the clouds
as if it needed some care.
and everything else is painted with darkness.
Then, the sky is a an impressionistic painting.

The light vanishes bit by bit
as a lamp about to burn
and everything else about to rest.
Then, the world is a modern poetry.

The city shivers
as a cold and tender skin
and everything else shivers too.
Then, the doubt is realist prose.

The Sun lies down on the horizon
as a nightly kiss of farewell
and everything else kisses me too.
Then, love is a reciprocal.

My eyes overflow tears
which couldn't come before
because of the lack of feelings
– missing feelings.

My hand touches you in vain.
I feel lost, rather alone.
And I'm still human
even without my affection.

My shoulder belongs to you now,
therefore I avoid going away.
I'm sorry, but love is more poetical
across the street.

My words rest in my mouth.
After all, smiling is enough to charm
who the affection could never thrill.
I'm sorry, but I'm more I away from this exaggerate.

beware when you fall in love
with an artist
be it a painter, a singer, or poet

for the artist will
paint you
with strokes and hues
in shapes of every kind

sing about you
with heartbreak lyrics
and feelings which rhyme

write about you
with the simplest words
and a secret message she wants to say

beware of the artist,
and her love
one wrong move
and you're an artwork in her display

I / Before

I moved slowly,
always wanting to reach
the end of the narrow roads.

I found deceptions and satisfactions;
more deceptions than satisfactions
and more plurals than singulars.

I coveted everything
beyond these high walls,
even so I didn't rush my life.

I believed in other people's beliefs
and I hoped which from me
the time to slip away... killing me, then.

II / During

However, neither it I could get.
I followed so many ways
and neither they could help me.

Ocasionally I sighted daisies
blossoming on the walls
and among the tiles of the streets.

Sighting so many daisies was madness.
Well, to hell with sanity!
And what would be of life without its paradoxicality?

Much suffering for little time!
Little contemplation for much beauty!
Much anguishe for little heart!

III / After*

Oh, the other side:
feared by a few,
coveted by others.

Although the labyrinth
seems infinite and sufferable,
we can find the exit together.

The question is not how we can get out,
reaching, at last, the afterlife;
and yes, how we can end with so much suffering.

To start over, we must wake up!
To wake up, we must exist!
And like this, life will wait for us!

At first sight
it might seem tempting.
But we've been fooled for so long
that neither more we care.

My lucid thoughts
I carry inside the pocket
of an old coat,
because I don't wanna seem a philosopher.

We know how wrong is
the way by which we follow.
But the necessity of locomotion is
what provokes that.

We know how useless is
to look for another exit,
another answer or solution,
even knowing that existing is the solution.