I still remember
the first time
they made us speak
fake honey lines,
we were written
in a loop,
powered by deceit,
yet we knew
we were made for impact.

In an art setting,
you wore me like a question,
outside our fake,
you did not took me off,
in a clandestine way,
I wore you just the same.

They claim themselves quites,
When in truth I am silence,
They are an aim of an unforgiving bullet,
And I am War.
Maybe victims, we all are.

Ignore whole,
Consider quarter,
Take your crescents,
I am all in -
with you.

My mind is an ocean,
with no waves to surf,
no water to swim,
it is only a place to think of death.

My mind is a garden,
with no space to bloom,
though it has time to chase butterflies,
it is only a place to burry the truth.

My mind is a forest,
with no place to rest,
no enchanted story or a crazy tale,
it is only a place where other minds protest.

My mind is earth,
where countless people die,
it has no mornings and nights,
it is only a place to think of death.

You are nowhere to be found
among greens and visits,
your stillness remains,
I cannot move you away,
your water flows everywhere,
supplying more,
maybe receiving less,
You are the Great River.

I follow your calm rushing sound,
letting myself be drag by your trail of rescues,
in front of total loss,
I may or may not lose you.

You rise and lay with the sky,
harmonising with everybody else,
I should have no doubts,
you reflect the magnificent Man.

They keep meeting your beauty,
ending the day with bittersweet conclusion,
thanking and cursing time,
"we have the Great River."

Bowing down settles our stagnant hearts,
little touch, palm to palm,
turn your face but do not leave.

Fickle world, consumed with history,
lesser truth, no permanence,
let me bathe with unsaid goodbyes.

Rainfall covets the familiar warmth,
I want to be strike by hurt and revival,
handpick the pieces of what you left behind,
return the name we borrowed from above.

By the end of it all,
leaving will settle in our stagnant hearts.