Influencers and politicians target the masses,
thinkers and artists target the individual.
A friend tells me I waste my potential,
achieving no glory with obscure texts,
which no one understands,
but it is he who doesn’t understand
that I don’t aim at quantity.
Wars will be in ten thousand years,
religions will go on dividing people,
people will keep clinging to their egos,
and sensitive souls will still need
a reason to live in this senseless mirage.
An acquaintance psycho-logist told me
that I write to attract women,
comparing me to a bird singing
to pollinate the simpletons enthralled by its songs.
But birds and psychologists have never
sung for the love of singing.
They don’t know about gloomy, heartrending tunes.
Some people relativize humanity
saying that animals also feel,
cows mourn their dead and cry
in terror before the slaughterhouse,
but only humans make an art
of making cheese and cooking steak.
And that’s humanity: the creative instinct of destruction.
Because only through horror and pain
we become better humans.
The soul is washed in the blood of the heart.
There’s as much art in the gun as there is in the pen,
the yearning for chaos, for bloodshed and change,
evolution has never been a pacific movement,
and revolution is nothing but murder and destruction.
And until we embrace our human nature,
and change territorial wars for spiritual ones,
we’ll keep empathizing with cows,
while killing each other.