Luckily we are others by Londrack on DeviantArt


Through the inclement gorge and dry we move to poor outbursts
opaque and early mornings
autumn inhibited by a gray sky

sometimes we accidentally penetrate into the fever
as in a false vacation or delirium
but if we try to raise an arm
hinges crack like old grudges
and we sweat blasphemies and melancholy

we are actually another stranger
a more ignorant guy when it will bottom out
whether in the brief May of the dry leaves
or in the lax February of sunny nostalgia

an unknown a bird that emigrates
of its own heart a sign
that little by little goes blurring
goes forgetting his own stroke

an unknown a white handkerchief that says goodbye to no one to anyone
as if no one had to gather memories
to get to say goodbye to the lonely

a stranger from whom you do not know
why and with whom you can still to wonder about a rest of nauf rage a freak
flint scary that spreads sometimes
seeds of courage silent screams

only a stranger we are that some remote of ourselves
a bag of prejudices a bomb of time
that explodes us in the middle of the hallelujah or the yawn

maybe there is the key

if we know thin and absent and a little betrayed > by caution and guidelines and great platforms
if we acquire in comfortable installments the disaster
and we handle the anguish like a stone ax and also if in the hard transactions
from brain to conscience and viceversa < we falter and then we falter and when the sky spits fire and shit we take refuge under the mosquito net and also if in the wide moor of insomnia we survive our selfishness
> and we eat breakfast and we do not reorganize the truth as a five-year plan or an orgasm

How not to smuggle in them
the storms that we did not untie
the data of the inaccessible love and the noble and enormous hatred
that accompaniment of the love that we did not dare to bleed

Free to be Others neither angel nor discourage
just our imperfect truth and radiant truth adventure that never repeats itself and yet it can pierce us like an arrow or a ideology

And it is no vain task
to invent Other
who have of course our features
texture our scars our more two or three plain barbarities
and more love than our more love
that caricaptura of our impossibles
sometimes contagious contaminates us life of our steps malmurientes

gives us confidence jubilation certainties
sincerity until tell us enough
point end to fear fear to point

And a night without sea or nightmares
those Others we invented
Others we invent recreate us in his image and his emejanza
convince us that at last we are Other
and we are Others clear and luckily we are Others. "

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