i am human and i am king

i sometimes think that the tree loves me
i look at the leaves
find hope in its buds, until all these
leaves, buds,
die,
until all the leaves fall and scatter all its dead self
on the ground
where the roots have no reaction at all,
until the buds are nipped and
the world speaks nothing about it,
since, destruction and death are nothing but
normal occurrences somehow
that everything around it, the air included,
has nothing to express,
i listen, i scrutinize what is happening to me
thinking that this tree which has no preoccupation but to grow taller
and look for sunlight
is in love with me,
this mind that makes inventions, that fabricates things that
must make it a survivor,
oh well, i can think i want and leave this tree upon its
mindless existence,
after all, i am human and i am king.

the window that finally blinks

there is something in me that wants to be true
like a window that stares to a road where women pass by
covering their mouths from a dusty road
there is no blinking
every detail about the color of each woman's scarf is duly taken

but there is a boy who comes from the bushes and carries a brown ball
and throws it at me and then i close this window in me and i turn into myself
coiling like a wounded snake

that snake within us
it does not hiss anymore but in this hurting hours our eyes are like lamps glaring in the dark
thirsting for vengeance

the hurt is long and winding like a road to the cliff
and it has no ending except an abyss

from then on
one takes the truth lightly like a feather plucked from a hen
twisting a neck and planning for a fried dinner

from hence
i laugh
i laugh out loudly so that you can hear and think finally that i am all right
and that i have survived
you.