Efren Petalver Carranza

Wounds from nails by moving frames
Scarred its skin by perfectionist’s eye
Its peeled-paints like thousands eyelets
That no one can hide a secret from it

Like album with many pages, it unfolds
The past, the present, the future;
A listener of a dream that one holds
Or a problem that can be its torture,

Be careful of what we do for it knows
When we cry, laugh, sing, or make love,
Like a pal, it’s always there on our side
To comfort or cover us from the outside;

Day by day, let’s give its thirst for some care
Love, not a punching bag, for I dare
Its revenge is a swollen knuckle
To remind those who has no control,

Mating with its doors and windows’ hubs
Jeweled with gold, silver, or sterling knobs
To close and open for our own pleasure,
The wall knows we’re secured for sure.