In this series I will be showing poems, that I wrote during the winters of 2021 and 2022. With the continuous catastrophe-waves I had a feeling as if the gloomy and sluggish winter had become the only season in a year. Without any particular order in mind, the first poem is called “raising generations”.
––
already exhausted
the reality of who tried, failed, tried, got happy, failed and
became bitter
social dynamics to begin with: who. the hell. am I reading to?
silences, hesitations to answer, anxiety of
taking space
the shortened sentences, unclear yes’s and no’s
lost participation leading to
relief and apathy
the sore bones from not waking up anymore, not like before
the dysfuncionality and the astonishment of it
working for such a long period like
hanging from an edge, being aware of the fall
but hanging until time becomes meaningless
hanging until the shock value of death evaporates
so much pesticides it’s impossible for life forms to break through the ground
raising a generation like raising a crop that will perish before harvesting
sanama 
Leave a comment