there is a rebel
at the back of each one of us
always complaining
discontentment is this
backbone which can never be strong enough
to carry a burden
there is speech in every pore of the skin
talking about a hairy
revolution
about undressed geese
flying in the skies
mistaken as
ghosts
there is this hunchback
complete with a head and sharp eyes
without hands
and feet
it always speaks about the defects of
any system
predicting the eventual destruction of
anything that is
stable like some kind of pillars and
pavements
leading to the old churches
where icons are posted
like advertisements of a
box office movie
when we get tired
we resort to prayers
meanwhile hiding this rebel
with a red hood and we pretend as monks
walking in the streets
spreading forgiveness
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem