Lands of censure
whips where love breaks
There
fire beings burning to death
They grow
They smell miseries and storms
Here in front of the gentle mob
dreams of the wrong hurt
Those of us will live
behind the wall of the dominant
We plan to use our honey
to flavor the air
The guardians of good
will have bitterness in their senses
There is no vine that grows out of abundance
nor artist who creates without anguish
Have eyes to see under the mist
perceive the odor of the odorless gas
or hear the voice of the silenced
It is the characteristic of the souls
torn by having lived
Surely in that binary world
there is good and bad
black or white
Here we have colours
to laugh or suffer
to spice the wok
Sometimes they catch us tears
other orgasms
With hardness and flexibility of an arch
guiding the arrow of desire
With attempts hitting the center
and with others outside
Nobody can take us
live together
scattered
full
dissidents
No Alzheimer should take away
the memory of being happy
when that inscription lives in the body
the soul will accompany
every second of that decision.
GRACE
(2018)
NATALYA DOUDELL
