The foreigner by Andrés Marcial

I am not a silent poet

This will be my dinner for today, a stale bread sandwich
and a warm Coke, to arrive and nobody being there
to welcome.
Here life is cheap or worth pennies only
And I came to stay, but my will is only passing by
Nothing I say will be had into account, I’ll always be tied
to corporate life and cheap rewards
And I feed my oblivion endorsing nonsense, lost causes
some old tapes, 80’s souvenirs, scattered memories
insidiuous cult of nostalgia could never relate to
ruin or reproach, sink or swim for everyone involved

And before my feet touch the ground, in every seed planted
in my dreams, in every turn of the wing, when strain overcomes
Love, when it’s more about envy than awe and the landing strip
is still far over the skyline, hidden by a cloak of mist and other,
more refined forms of slavery, all that…

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