Although I would like to be
filled with the pure essence
and transmit in crisp whites
that self, that transcends
the daily struggle,
I entangle myself in the routine
without finding my soul.


I can see nothing but a "here"
and an escape "now"
that defines the walls of my fears,
throwing me into the soliloquies
of an aurora battered
with pain and agony.


But the involution advances
and this world does not find a goal,
a solidarity project,
that combines solutions
and distorts conflicts.


I don't want to have to
raise my voice over the mass,
I don't want my truth as absolute.
I long to add experiences and answers
in a world that is more than a sum of egos.


But I am still here,
quiet and resurgent,
recreating myself in
my personal sufferings,
gagged in my self-absorbed being.


With nothing to offer
I spend my days and
I only know how to complain
to a strange world.