I sleep in a dream generated in the nightmares

and eat scraps of hope, milled in the impersonal

and mechanical time’s machine.

Scraps that feed me to be not more than dry tree,

searching for pulling and unwinding roots

that capture me on the ground.

I prevailed over fate that once deceived me

and now walk and will spread my life around.

I wish distemper, hallucinate and extrapolate,

horrifying who has enchanted and eluded me

in that dark and deaf land, that was not mine.

I will go, man that have returned to be, on search

not for a drop of water but for one rain that rains

thunder and lightning, the same like the flood

that has baptized our era.

I will reap fruits that, blessed by my hands

and hard a toil,

by sure will make me more and more strong.

I will make love to my wife in sheets of soft Chinese silk

and we will be asleep in a bed of fragrant Lebanon woods.

Not that I deserve more than Abraham,

who only had a glimpse of the Promised Land,

but, of this new one, God willing,

I will take secure possession.

Published in the April 2015 issue of The Gambler.

Published in the February 2016 issue of Indiana Voice Journal.



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