When I said nothing happened

I lied to you.

It happens, it happens every day,

on bridges, in open spaces.

Because I yielded to love

I walk, for some an object of shame,

for others a mirror. Whoever looks at me

is turned to stone,

frozen.

 

When I said nothing happened

I simply forgot. Since that day

all the drivers, all the pedestrians

have carried my name

(Shame) as a shield.

If a stone is thrown at me

I answer with stone . . .

 

When I said nothing happened,

I just lied.

This is what happens: I breathe, I exist.

My heart is a choking tumour, near the breast.

I cut out the tunes,

the malignant music, metastasis

which brings back the voices of lost days.

My heart is a celandine,

parched.

My love, can it be worth it? At night

my head hangs from my neck by a single hair

then morning, and the pain of the healed wound

and it starts all over again ...