Bitter Sweet Symphony

Gently, i feel free,
watching the sunshine melting and dividing
the day in two as if i could see tomorrow
in my accustomed perplexity.
It is with doubt that I contemplate my dust embracing yours ,
dragging my feet along our story.

"This country has no salvation." You say
and I still don't know if I (dis)agree or not
because it is like to hear my own fading voice
again as we stop to sit down for a while,
so tired of shouting, singing, repeating
the same insanities.

My mouth is dry.

Maybe i lost myself catching clouds,
staring at our pale dreams but
the direction must have a name.
Will our goodbyes be a halfway to the grave?
What shall we say to heal the wounded?

i feel like forgetting and laying my voice over yours.
you are right: i will always be my land, my people, our pain.

___________________________________________

Those theories are enchanting and intangible.
They shadow us and hide tomorrow.
What is progress when you can't feel
your feet anchored on Earth?
What is dignity when there is nothing
between feeling and fact?

Karla Bardanza