5/24/2018 Tense by Simon Anton Diego Baena

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Tense

Every moment of my present

is seen through the eyesof the past, for the past is

in the present, perhaps.

I smoked fifty cigarettes

a day just to keep me

company in this journey

towards what can never be.

And I am reminded by this

moving frontier of wailing

women and parched graveyards

that there is no escape

from the lashes of life;

the house crumbles,

the garden burns, in

the ashes of a prayer.

It is as if I only exist

as a word or a verse

in someone's tragic poem:

the strings of a shattered

guitar wrapped around

a broken voice echoing

in the city of ghosts.

The majestic beauty of birds

and trees means nothing

to me: I am a room

with no windows,

a river

with no pebbles,

a heart

filled with holes.

An earth

with no gravity.

--Simon Anton Nino Diego Baena

5/24/2018 Tense by Simon Anton Diego Baena

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