A long time ago
before I was born
into the XXI Century
I lived in a grasslands
pierced by arrows,
where steel helms sink
into the decay of worms.
In that grey autumn prairie,
I have met my demise.
***
In some lives, I got stabbed in the back,
trying to prevent the execution of my wife
by those I thought to be companions.
The embers at the center of the village
are the only colors I remember,
in an otherwise,
grey and brown-faded world.
***
Many times,
my soul left my body
with guttural screams,
as I reincarnated with knots in my back,
that always felt like a sharp stabbing knife.
***
In the XXI Century,
I often had dreams where I am in a grey landscape,
surrounded by knights, and white dusk.
In those dreams,
I swing my sword to end my enemies
but I'm the one who is cut instead.
***
I'm sitting on a couch,
in the XXI Century.
I descend beyond the fabric
where I'm sitting,
and I touch one life,
where death came from the front,
sword cleaving me into the ground
right where my abdomen marries my heart.
***
In the XXI Century,
I live a life without breathing
***
I have died and lived
by the sword,
across so many lifetimes.
I visualized the sword
as my identity,
as a way to end problems,
enemies, hurt, injustice
but in the end
the outcome was me
turning me into an object.
***
A body that's here,
a spirit that's enthralled
by ice-cold steel
running through my linea alba.
I feel my back curved against the couch
I feel the sword cracking open on my abdomen.
***
My mind, clear, runs
through multiple scenarios
of my last strife.
In one of them,
my spirit leaves my body
and that was relief.
***
***
My spirit watches my body,
holding onto the steel
that has separated us.
If I don’t do anything,
if I let myself go
my XXI Century body feels like
a panic attack, sunken and defeated.
***
I have a choice
I force my spirit back into my arms
and into my cleaved chest,
and I pull the sword out.
Half-dead,
half-standing,
I stare into the eyes
of hate.
I know this choice.
It ends with me ending those
who hurt me, a powerless revenge,
a self without meaning.
***
I have a choice
I have a choice to not
live life as a sword
***
I drop the sword
and everything reforms,
I'm not an armor,
I'm flesh that is crying
and releasing,
finally breaking
this aspect of my samsara
***
Epitaph
Life won't be defined by
the pain I know
but by that which I don't know.
I will no longer
hold the pulse of existence
like a gun against my throat.
I will learn to speak
so we can touch
when we are alone
and helpless
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