Exodus

The sea is like sargassum 

melting the bones that care 

for the light to come. 

Yet, clocks disdain hope. 

An overrated device shambles in waves, 

wiping away self-sustained sorrow. 

The clock is still there, 

so dull. 

We are imprisoned 

by the farce that fades words away. 

No shall we dance in the foggy night. 

No say we to the thrilling moonlight. 

Cast away the sorrow 

hollowing out the void inside. 

Dismantled words 

brush into the thin light 

that unfolds from merciless houses. 

No wonder we are strangers to each other. 

Oh! should we look in the eyes 

instead of running away; 

should we avoid mounting voices 

that shelter the seeds of apocalypses, 

playing the trustee of mankind. 

As if 

gold were removed from the words we say, 

deleveraging the deeds 

of massive, yet uncommitted aspirations. 

Oh!

if at least we stopped running from ourselves, 

if flagships arose in the midst of fierce seas, 

seats from which 

we start would uncover the best of us.