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.