Human in Predicaments

I.
Loosing ties, losing connection
that is what we are good at nowadays.

We write every ripple on our walls, the moment

we understand that words flew

like arrows, aimless, misled

by gravity, then we writhe all the time,

whenever someone is standing

on a different plane from us.

II.
Truth is a child we named History and everyone gets a chance
to dress and to undress the flesh: a constant search

for the right size, which hem gives an allowance

to breathe, regardless of precision,

a constant revision between light

and dark, where blood falls

best until we find ourselves getting a kick

from each other.

III.
People just tend to embrace someone else’s loss
and get mad for not being in the same heaven,
in the embrace of the same faceless god.

We are so busy raising the spoon of our morals

We cannot even feel our own dirt
Sliding like firemen on our knees.

IV.
Forgiveness
is facing
the other
once significant
with a smile
while shutting
the door
as lightly
as possible.

[click]
V.
We are busy searching
for loose coins at the gutter, knowing how

we become dead fish, learn nothing

in this stillness, in this notion: waves

we refuse to turn us;

we return to ourselves growing branches

with fruits everybody picks

until we have nothing to pluck for ourselves.

VI.
There, there they always say.
There are children somewhere begging for food, dying.
Stop being sad! It ain’t that worse!
All in your head, chum!

And at that moment, the city is inviting me

To be an additional pigment in the crossing—
After all, from this height,
the world is fine.

VII.
The giant spiders are true: the same ones
That once lurked at the dark corners
of our childhood paranoia.

About time we find out its fangs has long

Been injecting hatred in our system.
Why sadness is constancy, delivered
Every single byte per second.

Once the four bars are down,

we are free from this web that kept us bowed,
entangled even.