The Trial of the Blind Force

 We sat on a chair.

Lighting a candle, it glows

like the sorrows

stored in us for three decades.

Oh, blind force—

how blind you are.

When we waited for connection,

you handed us silence.

Oh, nature—

how useless you are.

You gave the earth its beauty,

you worked your magic,

but you gave us dead souls.

We share our breath with

the room, the chair, the table,

a dead window.

A cigarette glowing in our hands.

An ache that hurts the bone.

I knocked on your door.

You didn't respond.

I knocked for a while.

You didn't open.

As I try to leave with my fellows,

the handle of the door grips me.

The dark night is crying,

telling us:

Stay. Stay with us.

We are dying and alive at once.

Our dusky eyes,

our graying hair,

suiciding us every dawn.

Only the light of the candle

gives us a chance to breathe.

Our heads hanging under a roof.

Our hearts frying in a pan.

What a torture.

The desire for living,

the hope of surviving,

the dream of imagination—

all dying in a room

filled with dead souls.

Oh, blind force.

Oh, nature.

Men are lonely on earth,

waiting for redemption.

While you are

fucking your bitch on a torn bed,

in a colorful room,

with the elegance of her breasts, her waist, her cunt.

You kiss her lips.

We kiss death.

I stand here.

I am spitting on you.

I am raging at you.

I want to kill you.

My hands are boiling,

my spirit is immersed in blood to kill you—

Oh, blind force.

Oh, nature.

But

we die thousands and millions of times

in this room.