WHO KNOWS

WHO KNOWS

I don’t know that you know

I speak, I listen and I understand.

Each moment trembles

watching and grieving,

houses upon houses

men and men move in a straight line,

in a stanching method

in preconceived notions,

in patterns that are easy

tall, straight and sky-touching.

Great structures of bricks

stones and pebbles make houses

but when men fall,

they die, no tear and no burying.

It is simple death without rituals,

houses make men and live in men

a strange phenomenon of today.

I understand, I told you

you kept silent

a silence of graveyard

you knew it I told you

and I don’t know what you know.

I think, I see and I smell

each pattern distorts,

quizzing and mystifying

a life made so simple,

every particle of emotion

mechanically drives a wedge,

between man and machine

in a roundabout way,

on predetermined lines

in shapes that are murky

dark obsessed always,

touching bottom

I do not know why I know,

I move, I walk and see

a straight road.

I don’t walk straight

I move in curves,

and think in circles

I listen to echoes,

echoes in a houses of four walls.

There is a pain unknown

there is an unborn cry,

of pity and desire

a burden of emotions.

Curved desires and painful echoes

continue to live in patterns,

of houses upon houses

and men against men.

I cry, I weep and languish

and I do not know really

that is my enigma and your tragedy.