Branched off

I dreamt of a thread, winding up in my head,
wrote secretly a truth, thought could have been a sleuth,
did it on the walls, like those days at the stalls
with presence,
and absence,
your essence fills it all.

I listened to the wind, stitches on my skin,
these days life feels so thin, rain keeps coming in,
I can barely hold your token, dare to think a door is open
a few lines,
showing signs,
account now for lost times.

I dreamt of a thread, went back twenty years
the sound of your words, traded my days with tears,
they dried my eyes, but not my soul
which in disguise,
kept this light
to pour in your bowl.

No Mercy

He looked for faces, in familiar places,
and found his town, turned upside down,
all he cared for was now
a wreckage.

How do we get from one day to the next,
with no water, no light, no gestures,
you know we could've fight that beginning,
and embark on such an adventure,
but some of them chose the language of violence,
and all of them the words of their god
they simply dismissed a challenge
hardly believe they just forgot.

And he wonders why it still keeps spinning
while we sit amidst all these dead
only three hours of misery
after which his life hangs by a thread.
He does not want to keep running,
wants to see his kids fly a kite,
wishes only to hear the good notes
and not the hatred that begins to ignite.

Will it be another addition
to the backyard of our minds
to consent on such a massive carnage
so ferocious it is almost blind.

So as the fools show no mercy
and shouts come from distant lands
hope withers in every corner
as flowers begin to die.