WHEN THE TERROR RULES

it has nothing to do with
cowardice
but more with a
collective numbness
a massive forgetfulness
about the real strength of people.

terror has some help.

they teach you to distrust
to spy on each other
to betray each other
to fear each other.
so the fear is not towards
the power
but towards that
neighbor of yours
ready
to call the police
at the slightest sign of deviation.

when the terror rules
we're all lambs dressed like tigers,
Crusoe within a horde,
deprived of that
piece of humanity
we should be sharing with others
while we hide.

THE RIGHT PATH

is an illusion created
to make us believe the road
of deeds
under the feet of
consciousness
defines the destiny.

hoping to find
the right path is like
hoping a piano to
compose a melody
or a camera to choose
the perfect angle for a picture.

there is no path
if the wanderer
is driven by the fear of peers
and decides to strike
the first blow
becoming it's own worst enemy
and most horrible
threat.

twisted race...

can it be possible the clay
we should believe we are made of
is nothing but the shit
of thousands of dinosaurs?

could those stars that brew
all atoms
to make our bodies
die of a cosmic
sickness we have inherited?

there is no path
to glory
we've been infected
with organized stupidity
to avoid the glory of all
in exchange for
the vanity of each.

ONCE YOU START TO THINK

you shouldn't stop
but once you stop
you should get moving as soon
as you can.

the real death is on inaction.

the other one
they tell you about
that hides ancestors from our view
is just a smooth transformation
from "is" to "was".

there are more ways
to be dead than stop
breathing,
blinking,
urinating
or watching TV.

there are worst ways
to die than
to be hit by a car,
fall from thirty meters,
swallow poison
or inhale three litters of water
on each of
your lungs.

there is this gentle way of
being dead
the one that arrives when you
stop questioning
stop searching
stop loving
and most of all,
stop being yourself.

the worst way to die
is a swift move
from "is" to
"is not".

I UNDERSTAND ALL ESCAPISTS

you just have to look
around
an you will see how much
crap we bear.

crap crawling on the streets
climbing the supermarket shelves
filling the drugstore
cupboards.

crap coming through the radio
flooding the TV
whining on the newspapers
filling every corner of yours
with the filthy stink of
half-truths.

crap on what they told you to do
on what you are doing
on what you have only planned to do.

nobody's safe.

the only thing I do not agree
about escaping is that
in the end
someone should do
the dirty laundry.

so let's start
tomorrow might be late
if there's tomorrow.

furthermore
there's nowhere else to go.

POETRY IS A WHORE

it comes to you in the night
walking on a lonely
street
with promises of pleasure and
redemption.

it comes with the fragrance
of adventure,
desire and a certain lust
wrapping your senses on
a drunkenness
you can't resist.

you must take it or leave it
but it is a matter of now
urgency is the language it
better speaks,
the melody it better
plays.

next morning when you
wake up
searching for it on your bed,
trying to catch what is left of it
among the sheets
it has already gone
leaving you the emptiness of a
lost paradise
ever after.

the good thing: it only
costs you a tiny
bit of your
tired
soul.