Accidiamus
apathy obeys stages and they started very early,
more for my fault than for any other reason...
for example when I realized
that I forgot the scent of the perfume
of your hands, mother.
or when I stopped being amazed
at the magical and logical rotation of sunflowers and,
a little later, when I simply stopped being enchanted
by the singing of birds or the strange sound of my voice
echoing a cry among the mountains.
then I lost my colors,
peeling off the upper layers
and finally eliminating or hiding
all kinds of feelings from myself.
maybe it's all the fault of the sharp blade of days,
because it was the one that first disfigured
and then ripped from my face
what should have been a smile.
now I am this anomaly
that seems to belong nowhere.
this thing that happened to inhabit
the bottom of a dark and silent well.
the cold waters drip from the stones
and form endless and hypnotic concentric circles
on the surface.
down there I see everything.
Inside, I remember everything.
but I don't feel anything.
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