your glorious indifference

what happened to you?

what happened to you? i always looked at you and saw such an indulgent lucidity, so much creative potential, you were always looking for beatitude in the sordid, in the improbable.

what happened to you? because you're here now, you've abandoned reading, you've stopped going to the theatre, you've let the poetry die inside of you. you've drifted apart from everything.

you don't feel the colours, the poetry, you don't even feel the love.

a disaster hiding behind paper skin.

what happened so that you could have such an irrational fear of ghosts?

how many fears have you allowed to devour you?

is it the time? is that what weighs on your shoulders?

i always saw you laughing, now you don't laugh at anything, at no one, not even yourself.  you were radiant, mystical. now, look at yourself, screaming to the walls that never answer you nothing other than the echo of your own voice. look at yourself, tell me, are you content in your solitude?

are you content while you shake the poetry out of your bones?

Oshosi always rejoiced with your laugh, he sang to you the most beautiful melodies. tell me, do you still have faith? before it was so easy for you to find peace in good art, good music, compassion, intimacy. i always see you so expressionless, your eyes are always sad like the blues that played on the radios on past decades.

have you surrendered?

you're living on the brim of trauma, you're being unfaithful to your own doctrines, always wanting to run away from yourself, trying to find reason in the words of Goncharov, Miller, Schopenhauer.

what happened to you?

you're surrounded by makeshift loves, prolonging your goodbyes, never accepting to live the loss. look at yourself.

how are you so quiet about your sadness? how do you carry it in your fingertips, shoulders, without giving it a voice? what do you do to quieten it?

you were never like this. tell me, what happened to you?