ANAGRAMS (47)

Days of nothingness:
Sitting in the middle of
Wars
Deceits
Loves
Shopping, dog-walking and cries
Whispers, betraying and lies
Scratching old, dry wounds
On your childhood knees.

Every dead man is your future
Every taxpayer your soul
And forgetfulness the only means
Of survival.

You’re glad you weren’t born a pig,
A bird
Or an insect.
You are a miracle
A human
An exception,
Pride of creation
In this universe:
Sitting in the middle of
Battles
Treacheries
worships
Suicide-bombing, skateboarding, answerless whys
Football, TV, vomiting and chicken fries
Scratching renewed, filthy wounds
On your bleeding corpse.