Why I write

I write because the world is confusing

And my talk is a way to signify it

I write because somewhere

A child dies hungry

While we toast to daily small successes

Quenching other hungers

I write because right now

A man jumps from a bridge

Because he couldn’t understand the works

And he had to drink a lot

He had to run like crazy

Working like a slave

Earning money

And in the end, there was just him

Human, fragile, minimal, weary

Fighting the same fight

Caught on the ropes

I write because the day is a cell

With no door or window

And maybe I can knock down the walls

With the subtlety of a metaphor

Like a rose bleeding a landscape

I write as someone who shoots himself in the head

Waiting to live forever.

Seed in the summer

I woke in the morning

But the morning didn’t wake in me.

I see the sun shining

But it’s not shining for me.

I feel the refreshing air

Filling the space around

But my lungs now rather smoke cigarettes

I can hear a poem

Knocking on my brain’s door

I invite it to come

Desiring its words, blessed by pleasure

But they only have the manure of daily life

Offered to me as necessary and irrefutable food

And I need to get used to it

       -  to sprout cold and lonely

As a buried seed in the summer.