Esa Porfiada Fe

When anger descends through my hands
once and so many times
and, a shameless drool solidifies in my pride...
idiocy explodes and I destroy myself
from deeper than the footprints
my days were erased before being born.

I watch the air pass by, desperate and still!
I wish it was in my lungs!,
but I suffocate and break
the last 'why', the last 'notion'
of a defeat
that traversed the glory of some dream,
of some naive desire, deep inside!
so deep... that it seemed like fear!
just like the fear of losing everything,
when there's nothing more, nothing at stake.

When the anger, I said and say 'anger'!
in the highest announcement of punishment
that stayed with me,
bold, authoritative, annoying,
precisely with me!, who had faith,
that stubborn faith... to shelter
in the widest space of the centuries
precisely with me!... I feel anger!

I am a worker: I am the destiny
of my children's hunger.
I no longer forgive, because I have none,
no sweat, no patience..., no rituals...
If the saints came down, they would tell me...
that there are no more Sundays
because there are no more Mondays and in the places
where calluses are born, there are layoffs!

I watch the air pass by, desperate and still!
Where is the love?
Where is my shadow?
What is this place where this hour dies?
Where is that creed
my mother told me about?

Every gate I look at,
this gate face I achieved crushes me...
Hitting every gate I saw.

What mortal sin did my 'befores' commit,
that this unpaid bill
has reached me.
I subject myself to spend the reason for my doubts...
and I snatch my blood...
over this infamous wound
that dissects my bone
and infects and swallows me.
That stubborn faith... It was worth nothing!