The Poet’s Address to the Hacker (Bilingual)

Dear Mr hacker, thank you for wanting to be my friend,
and friend of my friends, and friend of the friends of my friends.

Into my life sudden and swift,
arriving with your dirty tricks
disguised and distorted,
I made the dreaded click.
A flurry of posts, messages, and texts
from friends old and new
with the dreaded news,
but not new to you,
my digital life invaded and violated.

Dear Mr hacker, thank you for wanting to be my friend,
and friend of my friends, and friend of the friends of my friends.

Facebook logs and bots
swooped into action,
my account blocked.
I now had to face the digital hurdle race
of three step authentication.
Fifteen minutes it took to reset,
clicking on comments, photos and friends,
conditions met, arrived the final code to reopen the net.

Dear Mr hacker, thank you for wanting to be my friend,
and friend of my friends, and friend of the friends of my friends.

Messenger and time line awash with warnings,
and even more questions, I went on repeat
With stock reply “Don’t open and please delete.”
My meds I forgot to take
because of your video fake.
Raging sugar and throbbing head,
sent me weary and worn to an early bed.

Dear Mr hacker, thank you for wanting to be my friend,
and friend of my friends, and friend of the friends of my friends.

Mr hacker you robbed my time,
and you made me ill.
So now I do opine,
my brain you cannae hack,
Your life must bleak and lonely be,
alone in front of screen
creating scams, viruses and bugs.
The actions of a creep, a coward and a bit of a freak,
So sad it must be, to live like thee
but for you I cannae weep

Dear Mr hacker my address to you is at its end.
I don’t want to be your friend,
neither do my friends, nor the friends of my friends

Keyboard in a tunnel

El Poeta Dirige al Hacker

Estimado señor hacker, gracias por querer ser mi amigo,
e amigo de mis amigos, e amigo de los amigos de mis amigos.

Llega en mi vida repentina y rápida,
viniendo con sus trucos sucios,
disfrazado y distorsionado.
Hice el temido clic.
Una ráfaga de avisos, mensajes y textos
de amigos, antiguos y nuevos.
con las temidas noticias,
pero no nuevo para usted
mi vida digital invadida y violada.

Estimado señor hacker, gracias por querer ser mi amigo,
e amigo de mis amigos, e amigo de los amigos de mis amigos.

Logaritmos y robots de Facebook
voló en acción,
mi cuenta bloqueada.
Ahora tenía que desafiar
la carrera de obstáculos digitales
la autenticación de tres pasos.
Quince minutos tardaron en reiniciarse
hay que hacer clic en comentarios, fotos y amigos.
Condiciones cumplidas, llegó el código final para reabrir la red.

Estimado señor hacker, gracias por querer ser mi amigo,
e amigo de mis amigos e amigo de los amigos de mis amigos.

Messenger y línea de tiempo inundados de advertencias,
y aún más preguntas, continué repitiendo
con la respuesta repetida – No abrir y borrar.
Mis medicamentos me olvidé de tomar,
debido a su video falso.
Azúcar alto y cabeza sondeando
me enviaron cansado y agotado a la cama temprano.

Estimado señor hacker, mi mensaje para usted está al final
No quiero ser su amigo, tampoco mis amigos, ni los amigos de mis amigos.

Keyboard kaleidoscope

 

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Buenos Aires – Falling in Love with a Honeysuckle.

My third day in Buenos Aires I was signed up for a cooking class and I chose to travel on the metro. I purchased my SUBE card in the underground station, literally outside my hotel. It is like London’s Oyster card, it is prepaid and deducts use for every journey on either bus or metro. Simple and straightforward, this has been a very practical marriage between digital and plastic. Guidebooks and those who had visited Bs As before me had said it was a nightmare to use public transport. Small change was required and not easy to get hold off, and people used to stand with jackets open as mini small change money exchanges at an extortionate commission; this no longer happens. Lovely sky blue in colour, mine celebrating 200 years of Argentina’s independence in 2016.

The Buenos Aires metro system uses a similar system to Madrid, Barcelona, and Paris, colour coded lines. I worked out my route, made my way through the long air-conditioned tunnel and got on my first train then switched to another. The hardest part was locating the venue, landmarks were difficult to identify and having found the street it was about a ten-minute walk to reach the correct block. Norma of www.argentinecookingclasses.com answered and told me I was too early and advised a coffee. A nearby coffee shop was located and I discovered that black coffee comes in chico small or grande, large. Chico is an espresso my fav way to drink coffee.

Perked up by a dose of decent caffeine, I made my way back to find my classmate had arrived. Flavia was from Brazil and in Bs As to learn Spanish. We began by making the filling for the Empanadas, the small filled pastries that look like Cornish pasties or being Scottish a bridie.  We then made the pastry something I am good at, but my techniques were not suited to this type of dough as it is neither kneaded nor rolled just formed into a ball then left to rest. For convenience, we used dough made by a previous class and the next would use ours, as pastry needs to settle.

Another Argentine classic is the filled biscuit , alfojores, looking like macaroons; the filling is the ubiquitous but delicious dulce de leche, caramelised condensed milk. A gentle dough is made with a fine grating of lemon zest added to the mix. Once more, we used the previous classes dough and cut the dough into tiny circles to be baked.

The next stage was filling the empanadas. This was a bit tricky but became fun. You can buy pie cutters that fold over to create the shape but we were shown the traditional way. The circle is placed into your left hand, a spoonful of mix was placed in the middle then folded over. Rather than just squeezing the edges together, you pull from the edge then fold over making your way around the half moon shape till reaching the end. This is called the repulge, it creates a double seal, but also helps identify the filling as different shapes and seals are used. Although we used the same filling of beef,  Norma showed us other shapes, one like a large tortellini which is the vegetable filling and similar looking to a Cornish pasty with the closure sitting at the top, is the traditional shape for chicken.

Empanadas went into the oven, as the alfajores discs came out. While they cooled we were shown how to make the lentil and chorizo stew which is eaten to celebrate Argentina’s independence from Spain though it was similar to Spanish dishes I already knew.

The alfajores were ready to be completed; the disks sandwiched together by dulce de leche,  a little dabbed on the outside then rolled in coconut. It was therapeutic, as I find cooking when done in a relaxed atmosphere. The empanadas were also ready, golden and tempting. We then had lunch together sampling the empanadas with chimichirri; the classic Argentine sauce, made from chopped onions and paprika, oregano, garlic, wine vinegar and oil. A tiring but lovely morning had come to a tasty end. I made my way back to the metro station with Flavia my classmate, chatting about our future travel plans.

Empanadas sealed and ready to be eaten.

 

My fatigue had finally caught up with me; a siesta was required. Retuning to the land of the living later than planned, I organised visits and trips for the rest of my stay. Nick Thomson of Destinations Travel Edinburgh, had advised some things would simply be easier to set up locally.

The following day continued on the foodie theme and I was doing a tour with www.bafoodtours.com round San Telmo, the oldest district in the city. Sunday proved to be a good day as it coincided with the street market. We met at the permanent covered stall market of San Telmo; Amelia our guide and two Australian friends who had just visited Antarctica. We made our way through the market and I bumped into the young lad from Guernsey who had been sitting next to me on the flight. Leaving the market, we made out first stop, wine, cheese, and cold meat tasting. We tried four wines, one white and three red,  merlot, malbec, and cabernet sauvignon, I found the first two reds quite peppery and strong and preferred the lighter cab sav.   The selection of sausages was good, but I was to find all the cheese creamy but rather bland.

We then made our way through a throng of streets heaving with people, street vendors all hawking their wares, antiques, vintage glass, woollens, shoes and empanada sellers, wandering round their trays bundled high with the mini pastry parcels, and I was able to identify the fillings.

melted polvone cheese with herbs and sausage.

Our next stop was a veritable feast. Jorge, Amelia’s husband had gone to reserve a table, as they don’t take bookings on a Sunday. We began with more sausage this time freshly cooked, there were three different types, all tasty with a chunky mouthfeel like a good butcher’s sausage. There was also a dish of provoleta cheese melted with herbs, which gave it a bit more of kick but still bland. Then came the beef, this was day four in Argentina and I was to eat their stunning beef for the third time. It never disappointed once, this was a different cut, beef skirt or bavette a cheaper cut but prepared correctly it is tender with an amazing flavour.  Accompanied by salad and chips and wine glasses ever filled. The restaurant never emptied and there was a constant queue.

Dessert was chunks of quince jelly, which I love, and sweet potato jelly. I have tried sweet potato on a few occasions but I can’t handle the texture, this I liked and in case we were in doubt more chunks of cheese which faired better being paired with the jellies. We were full and Amelia suggested another wander through the market, many things caught my eye and I planned to return. We went inside to what they called tenements but reminded me more of Southern Spanish buildings with courtyards. Originally, homes to the poor where they shared kitchen and washroom facilities, many had become trendy market places; antiques, art galleries, arts and crafts.

Quince jelly and cheese

 

We entered one and I fell in love with a large oil painting. It was a single bud honeysuckle, the pale cream finger petals and green leaves set on a background of washed shades of nectarine. I asked the price, in pesos and dollars not cheap but affordable. On every petal there is a tiny couple dancing the tango, every petal a different step. It would be an unusual but perfect souvenir of Buenos Aires. However, caution prevailed and I said I’d think about it. I still remember and regret the beautiful street scene I didn’t buy when I was in Marrakesh the year before. Our final stop was at one of the city’s oldest and most well known coffee shops.

We discussed the picture, I made my decision I had travelled with dollars and pesos, if I had enough left by the end of the week I’d reconsider the painting if it hadn’t been sold. Coffee was how I like it, black, strong, and creamy. Amelia and Jorge kindly offered to drop us all of at our hotels as we were a small group and it was on our route home. In my room, I counted my dollars and put the value of the picture in a separate envelope.

 

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Buenos Aires Begins

Ticking things off the bucket list is one of life’s most satisfying achievements and in January 2017 I did, by travelling to a Spanish speaking country, other than Spain where I lived for twenty three years.

There were several on my list but I had a flash – Buenos Aires. It was in fact the possibly of going to work in the city that lead me, in a round about way to going to work in Spain.

The trip began with good omens when both my flights landed early. Arriving in the height of a Southern Hemisphere summer, my Scottish winter suffering self, soaked up the warmth as soon as I stepped from the terminal building, ego caressed by the tour company rep, who took me to my hotel transfer, asked me where did I learn to speak fluent Spanish.

I had a long chat with the taxi driver and I was delighted on arrival at my hotel to discover my room was ready, I could take up residence four hours before schedule, so thanks to Nick Thomson of Destinations Travel, Edinburgh  for  getting that set up. My room was not the best; looking into an inside courtyard but that meant it was quiet and dark which meant cooler and quieter than overlooking a noisy street.

Argentina is only three hours behind GMT and after unpacking I had the afternoon as well as evening on my hands. I decided on easy exploration and use the hop on hop off bus. I located the start point not far from my hotel, I was tired, and directions are different here. Coming from an old city bearings are landmarks, streets are short often descriptive. Here people speak of cuadras or blocks. Most of them seemed the same to me. Streets are very long going well into the 1000’s

I have mixed feelings about hop on hop services. They do get you around but it’s not that easy just to hop on and off, if you miss a stop then round you go again. I had no plans to get off anywhere, I didn’t feel jet lagged but I was tired, the night flight had been fifteen hours.

Buenos Aires, often known as the Paris of Latin America reminded me very much of Madrid, for me the city has a big plus, it is located on the sea. It was hot, muggy, and over 30ºC and I was happy. It is always difficult to take in the sights on day one  and travel weary but I was able to identify the places I would visit the next day using the same service. I don’t do a lot of research before my trips, I like to discover rather than plan, but one thing that did impress was Buenos Aires is currently the city in the world with the most bookshops. Lovely as sadly, they are a dying breed over here. I had passed quite a few en route.

I discovered route A morphed into route B and I decided to be brave and switched onto route C made it back onto route A to find it was on its last trip of the day and not returning to the start point near my hotel. Now feeling really tired I had to walk down Avenida 9 July which used to be the widest street in the world until the Brazilians built a wider one in their federal capital of Brasilia. The guide on the bus told me my hotel was just a few blocks down the avenida. A few blocks took me about 20 mins stopping on more than one occasion to ask, always same answer a few blocks more. My feet were throbbing in the heat but I finally located May Avenue and saw the entrance to my hotel. I was hungry so opted to visit the small bistro on the corner opposite my hotel for food.

Steak, chips, and salad for under a tenner; the beef was stunning, the mouthfeel different to what I am used to, it was an easy chew not melt in your mouth, steak does need a bit of bite, and coating your mouth with velvety flavour.

Feet rested it was across the street and two doors down to arrive back at my hotel, the air conditioning was on and I sunk into the dim room, dusty and delighted.

The next day I woke, breakfasted in the hotel which was basic but sufficient and headed off to an even nearer bus stop to catch the hop off hop on. Refreshed, confident that my Spanish was well up to the task. Places were beginning to look familiar and I alighted at my first stop Costanera Sur an ecological nature bird reserve; fascinating to observe this as part of the city. There was a long walk way where you could look into the park, the water covered in green plant life. Dotted along the route were statues of Argentina’s sporting greats, I only recognised Gabriella Sabatini the tennis player, only sport I would claim to be a fan of.

I would have loved to have stayed longer, but the demands of getting your money’s worth from the hop on hop all were calling. It was hot so found a spot in the shade till the bus returned; I had had a pleasant wander. My next hop off was at the interchange between route B and C at the MABLA Art gallery. I had a great feeling from the building when I popped in to use the ladies. I then waited till the cross over point for route C to visit the next place that had caught my eye.

Fairy Tale Fishing Club

Looking like a fairy tale castle was the Bs As Anglers clubhouse set on the magnificent River Plate. It was refreshing to be beside the sea. Not enough time to pop in for a coffee as the C route is only every half an hour and I wanted to be dropped off in Palermo Soho Bs As upmarket district.

In Palermo Soho, I had time here for a quick refreshment, wandered round found a lovely little square with a beautiful handbag shop that was closed and wouldn’t open till 5 pm. I couldn’t risk it and hoped to make it back at my own pace. It was time to get back onto route B so I could return to being route A. I had only managed to visit three places though had identified several more places to add to my list. This is what frustrated me about hop on op off you never manage to do as much as you think you can. However, I had acquired a sense of the city, and I was loving its vibes, and feel. The weekend was to be spent on one of my passions, discovering, cooking, and sampling local food.

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A Breathless Journey (Bilingual)

Straight jacketed onto the roundabout of hell,
propelled and pushed by prejudice and poison.
No space to think, no time to breathe,
dizzy with doubts dulled by despair.
The jacket gets tighter and tighter
The roundabout goes faster and faster,
crushing, controlling, contorting,
a breathless journey of endless pain.

Trapped in a tornado of treachery,
spinning suffocating
out of control, out of mind.
No stimulus, no sensation,
the tornado spins faster and faster,
the treachery goes deeper and deeper,
crushing, controlling, contorting,
a tender hook journey of endless strain.

Crippled by the millstone of constant compromise,
self blaming, self doubting,
too dry to feel drained,
too unhappy to feel sad.
The millstone keeps grinding,
the compromises never solving,
crushing, controlling, contorting,
a dismal journey of endless night. 

Uncatchable glimmers of hope,
flashing, flying by
past potential, fading future, simmering thorny seeds
sowed in the haven of lifelong ambition.
The glimmers bring light,
the hope bears fruit,
looking, leaving, listening,
A breathless journey of endless pain. 

The penetrating lever of poison
halted, held.
Different light, different angle,
new vision, new solution,
The lever stops pushing,
the poison stops penetrating,
liberating, leaving, letting go
the breathless journey of endless pain.

Round and round

Atado al tio vivo del infierno en camisa de fuerza,
propulsado y empujado por prejuicios y veneno.
No espacio para pensar ni momento para respirar,
mareado con dudas, dormido por desesperación.
La camisa cada vez prieta y más ajustada
el tio vivo va más rápidom rapidísimo
aplastatando, controlando, torceindo
un viaje sin aliento de un dolor interminable. 

Atrapado en un tornado de traición,
Girando, sofocante,
Fuera de control, vacia la mente.
No estímulo, ninguna sensación.
El tornado gira más rápido, rápidisimo
el traición va más profunda, profundísima
aplastatando, controlando, torceindo,
un viaje de gancho de cepa interminable de licitación. 

Machacado por la muela del compromiso constante,
Se culpa a sí mismo, se duda a si mismo.
Demasiado seco para sentirse, agotado
Demasiado infeliz para sentirse triste.
La piedra del molino sigue machacando
Los compromisos no sirve nunca para nada
aplastatando, controland,o torceindo,
un viaje sombrío de noche interminable.

Inalcanzables destellos de laesperanza,
parpadeando volando por
pasado potencial, perdido el futuro, guisando semillas espinosas,
sembrado en el refugio de la ambición permanente.
El destello trae luz.
La esperanza da fruto.
Buscando, escuchando, dejando,
Uu viaje sin aliento del dolor interminable. 

La palanca penetrante de veneno
detenida, parada.
Luz diferente, ángulo diferente.
Nueva solución, nueva visión.
La palanca deja de empujar.
El veneno deja de penetrar 
liberando, dejando, escapando,
el viaje sin aliento de dolor interminable.

Posted in Travel Poetry | 2 Comments

Liberation ( Bilingual)

Dim distant dawns,
pleasure yet pains.
Marred muddled memories,
a late player in
a dangerous destructive game.
A sacrificial lamb with
sins shames pushed over,
pushed off, pushed in.

Twisted, tainted, thoughts drilled into the mind.
Sensitive, guilt laden confrontation.
A new weapon to punish and cripple.
Misfitting transferring problems,
draining distorting battles.
Sieges and storms, stress and strains.
Same twisting mill, slow seeping killing.

Life long loyalties exhorted demanded.
Claustrophobic, crippling, manipulation.
A vicious circle situation.
No base, no bridge
no help no haven.
The olive branches always broken.

Loyalties exhorted, demanded.
Clouded. confused. crippling
Manipulation. A circle of
claustrophobic creation.

No support, no sympathy.
Yet hoping for what should have been,
But what could never be.
Wanting desiring to
change, to create, but needed to
Relocate.

Old ghosts, old conflicts,
reappearing, too much too soon.
Too similar, a misery mirror of ancient wounds.
Equations never equal,
rules ranging ever changing.
Continual mental whiplash
scarring self, soul and sensitivity.

Fighting hard, fighting free
It took its time but it
Was plain to see
The choice was simple
The decision clear
Forward to the future
With faith, only in me.

Amaneceres distantes lejanos.
Placer aún dolor.
Recuerdos confusos de dolor,
Un jugador final en
Un juego destructivo, peligroso.
Un cordero de sacrificio con
Pecados, verguenza empujó
empujado fuera de nuevo.

Pensamientos cuestionables, torcidos, perforaron en la mente.
Enfrentamiento de culpabilidad cargada se sensiblilidad.
Una nueva arma para castigar y paralizar
La transferencia de problemas sin encajar
Batallas agotan y  distorsionan
Asedios y tormentas, estrés y cepas.
La torsióndel  molino lento matando.

Claustrofobia manipulación invalidantes.
Una situación de círculo vicioso.
Sin lugar sin puente
No ayudan a ningún refugio
Las ramas de olivo siempre rotas.

Lealtades exhortados exigió
Empañó paralizando, confundido,
Manipulación.  Un círculo de
creación y de  claustrofobia.
No admite ninguna simpatía.
Todavía esperando lo que debería haber sido
Pero lo que nunca podría ser.
Queriendo deseos de
cambiar a crear pero fue necesario
Reubicar.

Viejos conflictos, viejos fantasmas
Reaparezca, demasiado, demasiado pronto
Demasiado similar, un espejo de miseria de las heridas antiguas.
Nunca las ecuaciones son iguales
Reglas que van cambiando cada vez,
el latigazo mental sigue repite
Cicatrización de ser, de alma y  de la sensibilidad.

Combates duros, luchando libre
Tomó su tiempo pero
fue a la vista,
la elección fue simple
la decisión clara
Avanzar hacia el futuro
Con fe, sólo en mí.

 

 

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The Disappeared / Los desaparecidos (bilingual)

Bustling, busy, beautiful, Buenos Aires.
A tourist trip drops into the square,
The Pink House of power,
walls tainted in blood, from beginning.
A soothsayer’s prediction of future crimes?
Los desaparecidos, los desaparecidos.

Bustling, busy, beautifu,l Buenos Aires.
A tourist wanders around the square.
Every corner, every side
Bricks and mortar, symbiotic symbols of
power and state.
Los desaparecidos, los desaparecidos.

Bustling busy beautiful Buenos Aires.
A tourist scans the flagstones in the square
The white scarf painted on stone.
Simple symbol of struggle,
Love, courage, and dedication
The mothers of the missing.
Los desaparacidos. los desaparacidos.

Bustling busy beautiful Buenos Aires.
A tourist leaves the square,
moments merge, memories mingle.
Torture, terror, removed from sight.
Phoenix like rising from the ashes
a movement born, a movement embraces
Mothers fight day and night,
to honour the missing children
Los desaparecidos, los desaparecidos.

Buenos Aires from River Plate

Alegre, movida, hermosa Buenos Aires.
Un viaje turístico llega a la plaza,
La casa rosada del poder,
las paredes manchadas de sangre, desde el principio.
La predicción del vidente de futuros delitos?
Los desaparecidos, los desaparecidos.

Alegre, movida, hermosa Buenos Aires.
Un turista deambula por la plaza,
de cada esquina, de cada lado
Ladrillos y mortero, símbolos simbióticos
del poder y la fuerza.
Los desaparecidos, los desaparecidos.

Alegre, movida, hermosa Buenos Aires.
Un turista analiza las losas en la plaza,
Un pañuelo blanco pintado en el suelo.
Símbolo sencillo de la lucha,
amor, coraje y dedicación.
Las madres de los desaparecidos.
Los desaparecidos, los desaparecidos.

Alegre, movida, hermosa Buenos Aires.
Un turista sale de la plaza,
momentos mezclan, los recuerdos reúnen .
La tortura, el terror, quitados de la vista.
Como el ave Fénix resurgiendo de las cenizas
nace un movimiento, un movimiento que abarca a
las madres, quienes luchan día y noche
para honrar a los hijos desaparecidos.
los desaparecidos de los desaparecidos

Reading Plaza de Mayo 26/8/17

Posted in Argentina, memories, Politics, Travel, Travel Poetry | Tagged , , , , , | 2 Comments

The Power of Poison (bilingual)

The drops of Venom formed
rivers of terraced wounds.
Wounds relentlessly, mercilessly,
whiplashed, time and time again.

The hierarchy of attitudes obscured
a yardstick of valueless rituals.
Rituals of no appreciation, no respect
thrust time and time again.

The illusions of compromise rubbed
salt into grated sores.
Sores ragged and raw,
Festering time and time again.

The price of promise, polished
commitments of pristine ice.
Ice splintering into water
Vaporising time and time again.

The birthright of dread released
a habit in a rigid tunnel.
A tunnel of no light no hope,
dimming time and time again.

The weapons of fear impregnated
a wall of poisoned silence.
Silences of brain beating.
manipulating, time and time again.

The chains of control gripped.
anchors in a stagnant sea.
A sea of monotony and misery.
tides returning time and time again.

The fight for freedom weakened,
hunting, grasping, for antidotes.
Antidotes powerless potions
failing time and time again.

The pain of progress eroded,
cluttered, confused sand.
Sand of turbulence and turmoil,
clouding time and time again.

The cage of loneliness forged,
wings fettered by isolation,
Isolation disturbing, defeating,
haunting, time and time again.

The fragility of a half way house battered
a storm of contained feeling.
Feelings rising, warning,
Reminding, time and time again.

The power of paradox penetrates
the encrusted shell of pain.
Pain of cathartic regeneration
The phoenix rises time and time again.

Shades of light and dark

Las gotas de venena formaron
Ríos de las heridas terrazas .
heridas sin tregua, sin piedad
Latigados una y otra vez.

El jerarquía de las actitudes oscurecidas
un criterio de rituales sin valor
rituales sin aprecio sin respeto
empuje una y otra vez

Las ilusiones del compromiso frotando
Sal en llagas ralladas
Llagas rasgadas crudas
Pudriendo una y otra vez.

El precio de la promesa pulida
Compromisos de hielo prístino
Hielo fragmentado en el agua
Vaporizando una y otra vez.

El derecho de nacer el temor liberada
Un hábito en un túnel rígido
Un túnel sin esperanza sin luz
Atenuando una y otra vez.

Los armas de miedo impregnados
Un muro de silencio envenenado
Silencios que golpean el cerebro
Manipulando una y otra vez.

Las cadenas de control apoderaron de
Anclas en un mar estancado
Un mar de la monotonía y la miseria
Mareas regresan una y otra vez.

La lucha por la libertad debilitada
Cazando agarrarando para antedotes
Antedotas pociones impotentes
Fracasando una y otra vez.

El dolor de los progreso erosioado
La arena confusa confundida
arena de turbulencia y agitación
Nublando una y otra vez.

El jaula de soledad forjado
alas limitado por aislamiento
aislamiento inquietante derrotando
atormenta una y otra vez.

La fragilidad de la mitad de camino casa malos tratos
Una tormenta de sentimiento contenido
Sentimientos suben avisan advietien
Recordando a una y otra vez.

El poder de la paradoja penetra
La costra empregnada del dolor
Un dolor de regeneración catártico
el Fénix se levanta una y otra vez.

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