roads glued
with adhesive tape, like wounds caused by
uncontrollable absences. wiped with iodine
insistently for disinfection.
my long hair is a revolt against the system.
sometimes i wake with clenched hands,
as if i dreamed i was holding someone
and couldn’t save them.
the city’s panorama
sharpens my senses.
my senses are an attack against the system.
for me, love is war.
beauty is war.
fear is war.
the lost worlds of billions of people
who lived — that is the war.
someone sits in their little house and writes all this.
i could say it’s winter.
no one walks the roads anymore.
sometimes i wish i could leave this body
like a dress from zara,
but i know that all i have
are my well-stitched wounds
and your eyes — the only sign that the war
is not in vain.
blinding lights. the city devours
like the system — live chicks, newborns
of disobedience.
gladiolus on your grave, mother.
to the mothers who defeated the system — and you survived.
my love is for everything that makes
the morning shine
like a body thrown in a cellar,
lit for a second by a flashlight’s beam.
it’s like i’m in siberia. there’s no more snow,
only a dry frost
that preserves everything i didn’t say,
everything i felt
and was ashamed to feel.
the war machine of love keeps fighting.
against the system.
i have no voice left.
sometimes i look out the window at the soldiers. they come back calm,
heads bowed, slow movements, empty stares.
they return to the city where war is just as ruthless —
on the streets,
in the graves,
in the kindergartens,
in the schools,
in the big buildings that hide corporations
and vices.
someone writes about all this.
sitting in their little house, occasionally looking out the window.
i could say time has passed. it’s summer. our love
has become a symbol. i have a plush heart. in this city, they only make
keys and mechanical cards now.
sometimes i take my heart out and make it beat.
dad, today i brought carnations to your grave.
and the surveillance cameras record everything, everything.
--Anon, 21/05/2025
Theme : Love, Social Criticism