Captivity

Tired, annoyed, crazy
everything collapses in the fold of my soul,
And there's nothing that can be done
And it's not about effort, about will!
I'm talking about breaking paradigms,
the molds that we get used to,
the old seams,
patches from other times,
years that have gone
and they have not left
but pain and fear,
aberrant frustrations,
dilemmas like evil spells,
cracks in the heart,
incurable, affected,
by the obsequious envy of loneliness,
of marginality,
and the jealous influence of misfortune,
that pushes us into other realms,
imposing, ancient, unreasonable,
arrogant as humanity itself,

Silent are their footsteps,
those who approach, while I sleep,
while I rest from the rigors,
of the indefatigable pursuit of hunger,
of thirst, of half of everything,
They are like sleeping churches that shelter no one!
Irresolute sins, unscathed, malicious,
that force, intensify, intimidate,
for me to kneel,
and lock me up on the gallows,
in the dining rooms of the damned,
They force me to eat the gall of my fears!
Oh I know what I'm talking about
and I do not give it as a testimony,
It is a tangible truth!
In the dark they have spoken to me,
them, all of them!
They have called my name
and they laugh in spite of me,
they laugh at me,
Yes; I have heard them
in the mists of dawn,
in the twilights before the arrival of the night,
in the howl of the wind,
they persist,
like the parishioners in a worldly procession,
they head towards the rituals,
to cry on the altars,
with their candles and demons that lie in wait for them,

And while I hold my breath,
Immersed in confrontation
penitent and on his knees,
I advance towards my freedom,
It's my dream!
And who understands it but me?
No one has approached in my shadows,
Nobody has moved
the doors remain closed,
and,
How much darkness is here!
Pale is the day of my misfortune,
a prelude, a sacred profile,
no words of comfort,
disconcerting, repressed,
without the comforting appreciation of compassion,
What is penance, in consecrated waters?
Everything is too archaic, insolent,
like a true heaving affliction,
cold, without definition,
superstitious, irrepressible,
a callous wall of clay and disinterest,

There I gave up
in my own prison, in my storm,
in a solicitous and hapless,
weakness, extensive and cold,
a trembling abyss, imperturbable,
an empty threshold, drenched in mud,
crying, painful, consumed in silence,
Unreconciled, incapacitated,
frozen and against my will,

And seeing me shaken,
Separated from the moans of my blood,
of the beating of my arteries,
of bruised temples,
of that phantom noise,
my sunken and dilated eyes,
opened to the astonishment of my tenacity,
Sheltered in the roots of confusion,
I saw myself running after my freedom,
And it is that I,
had fought against the twilight of the flames,
that sought to shred my strength,
and all that convulsive oppression,
was unable to stop me
for that, and my wishes,
I resisted slavery and domination,
to control my torn existence,

I said that I had fled,
No; such expression,
is insufficient in its definition,
It would be better to say
that I fought and won,
I hurt my oppressors,
I defeated them
and finally,
I was able to escape, I was able to get away from that place,
I took nothing with me
I did not ignore the voice of my spirit,
the dirty robes that dressed me,
were thrown into the sea
It was at that moment that I laughed with hope,
He had crossed the borders of exile.