How does it feel

when a dagger hovers over life,

when anarchy oppresses with brutality,

when dreams dissolve

and let no traces to contemplate?

 

How does it feel

when everything is swarmed by violence,

insensitivity; clear and humiliating absence of piety?

 

We are all instruments for an occasion;

others are escorted only by ambition

 

Oblivious to the world,

dawn is diluted between the breach of vigil and stupor;

the truth is bitter and punishment has no reason

 

I feel that what I’ve lived was not for me;

this jail becomes transparent before all

 

I watch the birds enjoying freedom and I ask myself:

am I life or the scrap of an empty facade?

 

Ultimately,

the jailer will judge me

before the abstract freedom arrives

 

©Noris Roberts