Wreckages are not despair,
They are the end of a storm.
They are a chance to decide
What's worth and what's not.
Wreckages are the art
Of the nature, of an implosion,
Of a disaster,
And the opposite of the disaster:
They are the calm,
The corrosive mold now exposed.
Wreckages are the place we climb
To see the extension of the destruction,
They make, out of tears, sweat.
Wreckages exposes us to the world,
For our caves are no longer there,
There is no room for a reform,
And eyes once again meet eyes,
We feel the raw earth within our toes,
Time fractures, and suddenly,
We're animals just like ages ago,
Vulnerable,
Without past,
Without future.
The wreckages
Are raw material of the healing.
