Ordinary people

Ennio Montariello
I still don’t know
who you are or if you are
something aching between
9-5 as you bite your lips
waiting for the same insane bus.
We both are too old
to evolve and turn into butterflies:
our hands and stains would denounce
our lack of perception and sensory awareness.
Simple things don’t electrify us
anymore; we are too busy paying bills,
counting the money we don’t have,
 riding other paranoias.
We are strange beings.
I can’t find where your old poetic notebooks
are hidden. You used to like rhymed poetry,
high heel shoes and make up.
We are on the periphery of ourselves,
resigned to what I dare not to say
because it hurts so much to be less
than we once were.
I have been thinking
we are nature’s mistakes,
maybe we are like two dizzy moons,
failing to distinguish the east from the west.
Our apparent motion knows no apogee or perigee.
What have we become after all these years?
Just wax figures in sealed honeycomb
with a thin layer of hope , my friend?
We used to burst through a D major.
It is sad to see our tight strings out of tune.
I feel for us.
Who stole our voices and small miracles?
When did we start to stare at our own photos for hours?
Karla Bardanza
For Katia
Copyright©Karla Bardanza 2012 Photobucket

1 comment:

  1. I felt like that once when I was towards the end of my job. I thought what was the point? And then a voice said "just quit"... and in that moment nothing else mattered but being free... I had to cut loose. I did and I paid the price. It is the price of uncertainty and having nothing that keeps us in the same drudgery. We believe the lie that our voices are silenced, that we dont' matter anymore. Courage is the key to making change and believing in yourself to make it happen. And I feel for those stuck in limbo....