you are fed up
you want to do something
but you cannot
the problem has defined itself
in numbers, in letters,
you feel like a mole on a cheek
a small indistinct island in the pacific
in the middle of an ocean
a single celled amoeba
swimming across the great mucus
of a corrupted civilization
can there be another David for
another Goliath in my story?
Avatars' bows and arrows against
the missiles and rockets of my film
about manipulation and oppression?
a speck of dust against profuse light
an atom invisible to those giant eyes
God has His own ways to correct
these crooked lines,
I am fatalistic, i cling to the vine
of his miracles,
and at the end of this misery
i, shall, a flower be
caressed by the hands of time
of the rays of the
gentlest
sun.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem