Memories from the past

 

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I don’t want to be a poet anymore

I don’t want to be a poet

I want to be none

But a casting shadow in the night time

Looking for his own body!

 

I don’t want your mercy

Your esteem

I don’t need your approval

I’m not looking neither for success

Nor for glory

Not even for reigning

Over golden-plated  worlds.

 

I don’t search a leadership

Over Wastepaper troops

But I’m only on search

Of my real, original stuff!

 

Blame me deeply

Crush me under your feet

Forefinger me

As a pattern of human abjection,

Driven by your envy

you will be

slaves of your own

measured freedom.

 

You will be winners

As well as defeated

Struggling the battle.

You will be the machines

Of your own progress!

 

On construing

You’ll be destroying

And going towards

You will go backwards.

Inevitably!