you can’t tell me who i am
when i am not in peace;
when the ease of the travel has lost
its soothing properties.
there’s no defining of borders
lines and boundaries
when strictly
we are confounded in the nature of the abyss.
there’s no longer a prevailing disdain.
a misery lingers on through the body:
what runs through
and encages your fears till dawn?
could my empty hands hunt and kill
your witnesses and demeanors
to liberate your soul?
would then be easier for you
to judge the helping hand
not by the looks of its skin
but what it has gone through?
then god would be a definition
and the body would be a truth
installed deep inside the madness we see in each other’s eyes
when the day comes,
you’ll see my light
not outsmarting
neither outstanding
but always,
never ending.