Around a campfire, we long for the cold.
Tarek Wiliam Saab.
I can stand the fire. I don’t want to sink in the waters. I dare to write autobiographical verses or launch a howl into the void while the flames massage the collapsed heart. This is my war, the one that takes place in my eyes. There is no longer anyone who can free the skin, the tree, the insects, and everything that harbors sadness. Nothing makes me laugh. My routes and landscapes are locked. Enclosed everything burns like agitated champagne, then the explosion, not knowing if it’s the beginning or the end of the war. I know the beginning of the flames: to desire, to feel, to burn. The end is the metamorphosis, the surface where ash and disgust travel.
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When I close my door
PoetryI dedicate this work to all the friends who are left in the heart. To all those who love me. In When I close my door, a social interest and a renunciation for the sake of communication is explicit, the subject destroys his exterior, recomposes himse...
