Mapping every inch of your skin
I forgot the countours
of my land.
I abandoned wandering its roads,
I ignored its hunger and violence,
submerged in a contant spasm.
So I turned myself into a snail,
into a tortoise,
hiding in the depths of my house.
I lived out my useless existence
singing like the cricket in the fable.
My home lacked doors and windows,
its shell my sarcophagus
walled with self obsession
enclosing me in its chrysalis.
None the less our love continued growing.
Our love that has become
a dialogue of years,
tempered with kisses,
blows and bites,
and an enormous bread basket
for sharing with everyone.
Today beneath our sheet
every woman, man and child
of our people is taking cover.
Let us establish
that from now onwards
there's room for everybody!
- a poem send to me, via email with a comment