A cry is heard (Poetry) (English).


It’s at night
and a cry is heard,
maybe it’s a child
looking for his old tears,
made of glass and wood
with salad taste or sugar clues,
in his grandma’s old garage
where he used to be afraid of darkness,
now he holds an invisible hand
dreaming it’s his father one
with those scars after that cruel war
called street, drugs,
searching being free attached to vice.
But now the tears hit the asphalt
like there weren’t a past left behind
or a hopeful future to come,
like the world’d have stopped turning
and the lights’d have no light inside
like the screams’d have broken his mind
and his mother didn’t love her child.

(I don’t traslate poetry because of the rhyme to avoid f*cking the poem, so when I write poetry I’ll do two poems: one in English and another one in French).



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