I feel empty, like a bottomless pit,
I cannot explain why.
I feel a pain in my soul,
For which there is no remedy.
Everything around me seems to be static and monotonous,
While inside me, there is an endless turmoil.
People ask me why I’m like this?
People ask me the reason for such anxiety?
People ask me why I fee such emptiness?
So many questions for someone who has no answer.
Why there is a need to explain everything?
Why there is none just to hear me without saying a thing?
I seek no answers and no solutions,
I just want to be the way I am, complicated, painful, tearful, melancholy and a poet.
No, the world has no place for those who have no answers,
There is no place for someone with unexplained feelings,
Why not think of the complexity of the human being?
I’m body, soul and spirit,
How to find out where is my concern?
I was medicated for the body, without being healed.
I did therapy for the soul, without finding peace.
I did prayer for the spirit, without being answered.
I do not know if I’m sick or the others,
If I am sick, I accept the fate and seek for healing,
If the others are sick, why they blame me?
Why would they demand me to change?
Cruel world, for both healthy and diseased!
I do not believe in the health of any living soul, we are all diseased,
I have never encountered a complete healthy man!
Those who say they are completely healthy, mostly are sicker than all,
I assumed my disease and have prepared me for the pain,
For everything in life hurts!
One day they reproached me for speaking so much about pain,
The other day they made me deny what I am and what I feel,
People told me to simply put on a false cloak of normality.
I was not born for lies, I was born to walk with a naked soul,
I was born to cause scandal, like the one caused to me by Theresa, the saint, from which emanated so much light, even though she said that she was walking in darkness, she was another restless soul.
I’m this, which you sees, but that changes every moment,
When I explain what I am at the end of the sentence I am already another being,
With new pain, new anxieties, new emptiness.
No, don’t have pity on me, I hate pity,
As the poet said, ‘even Solomon in all his glory wasn’t happier than I’m in my misery,
Neither the midday sun is brighter than me in my darkness,
Neither the healthiest has more strength than I in my weakness,
Neither the wisest knows more than I do in my ignorance.
I’m not lost,
I’m not confused,
I’m not faithless,
I’m just a poet, I’m just a contradiction…
by Luis A R Branco