Lands

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