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On whose vigil will the world stop to seek within itself its darkest spots, to dive deep into the swamp of injustice, of evil, of horror, the horror of horrors?!

Shame has nothing left to wear, it has become mud on the faceless faces of politicians all over the world!

But where are the people? Those immortal mortals with handfuls of anger in their hands?!

What are intellectuals doing with arms crossed waiting for the end? What can be more than dying?! What can be less than closing your mouth?

Maybe you have no time, you are busy with agendas of gender without gender, with… who knows what other madness.

Poets have remained like unsculpted statues… the real poets, I mean!

On the vigil of words that were never said we will plant a river,
To flood monstrously over sins forgiven by gods,
And in the end to take us and lead us to other worlds,
There where we can start madness from the beginning…

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