War ages me
With a broken hope
By the bullets of a society
That tears clothes into pieces.
Silence ages me
And indifference does too
The broken and wounded necks
Of children alone or abandoned.
The irony of wretched abundance
Ages me
It provokes wounds
And tightens the throat in agony.
Hunger ages me
When it clenches my belly
With impudent bitterness
And without explanations.
The laughter of shattered dreams
Of faith destroyed
Of my forehead scattered immeasurably
Also ages me.
Tears
From events not wept
From dusty paths
Untraveled
Age me.
The night ages me
And wastefulness ages me
Anger ages me,
But above all, not dreaming ages me.
Jesús Hernando Camacho Mosquera(AI)
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