“Life is [Not] a Jingle”
Life is just one,
one, plain and simple.
Life is music,
life is a jingle.
But life is no big opera,
no wide open sea.
Life is a hole in my chest,
an old and fruitless tree.
This is my life.
My life is within a tall fence.
And I cannot get out alive.
It lacks joy, a primordial sense.
While I visit the river of pain,
While I ride the breeze of joy,
I see they kiss each other slowly,
And this man becomes again a boy.
I do not know why,
in my boyhood I was free.
Now I am grown and withered.
I am an insect, a jumping flea.
But I hold on,
hold unto an imaginary rope
that keeps me alive, keeps me going.
It gives me lies, but also hope.