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Poem

Too many bruises
to recall the story
of my scars.

Surviving all these disasters:
an invaluable blessing.

Remaining whole
in this jungle
where liars,
hypocrites,
and impostors
thrive.

No joy
in shining through cowardice,
submission,
and betrayal.

A procession of zealous traitors,
blinded by hatred.

Always on edge
since the placenta,
like a child soldier
forced to adapt
to human savagery.

Most of my wounds
are invisible.
Sometimes forced
to accept the darkness
of my shadows.

A gesture of charity
to hope for the erasure
of my transgressions.

My impure soul
drowned
in an ocean of blasphemies,
so that my divine spark
might illuminate
my traumatized consciousness.

The curve
of my miserable life
is rising,
despite all those
chaotic falls.

I wrestle with my demons
like an addict
trying to escape
the pleasure
given by a hit
of hard drugs.

The needles
of my compass
spin in reverse.

I loathe
submission,
servitude,
and defilement.

I perfume
my scorched neurons
with toxic fumes,
to endure
the violence
of human stupidity.

If I had
the power
of universal force,
I would have a planet
dedicated solely
to my own universe.

I would shower
in the furnaces
of the bearer
of celestial lights.

I expect nothing
from the verdicts
of the Final Judgment.

I am
an encyclopedia
of transgressions,
of crimes,
and of desolation.

My demons
torture my ghosts
since I accepted
the terminus
of my dusk.

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