I can't believe you are here now,
Reading my verses.
You, Writer, who looks skeptically at anything
Which doesn't come from you.
You, Writer, who can appreciate only the words
That come from your own pen
Or from the pen of the dead.
While you adore corpses
Your brothers and sisters
Stay here
Unreaded,
Despised
For you
And for me,
Because I am not better than you.
But maybe together
We can be better
And give to ours friends
More than merely "likes"
In theirs shortest verses,
Because is what our lazyness
Allowed is to read.
Maybe together we can strength
Our verses
Our hearts
And-hour by hour-
All the world.