This poem doesn’t rhyme
and loses the rhythm along this lines

This is an overflow of desensitized emotions
recollected in a moment of intensity, clarity.

A recollection of worthlessness

in a city, a shantytown, in a sweatshop, in a refugee camp,
life is raped;
barrels of dead,
tons of dead,
piles of dead,
life is stitched

It’s a recollection of dry, cracked lips
hands pinned,
eyes paralyzed in rims
Figures identified with black pen
name, age written on foreheads

It’s a recollection of bones broken like twigs
thin skin, emaciated by hunger and thirst
like birds with amputated wings
Short-lived spring…

The recollection of the self,
vacuumed into nothingness
consumed by everything,
deconstructed by narratives,
without beginnings, open ended…
A self that lost itself,
its innocence
its orbits,
its sense,
its essence..
its faith in itself





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