This Mess we are in,
where no promise can help and no position can save,
where just hope could make move and action needs.
I am empathizing with the sorrow, the pain, stretching to the high,
straining to find answers among thousands of Who, What and Why.

​Can you hear them? The sounds over the sky of fighters from one side,
and the mortars on the other way?

Questions raise like thunders inside:
What were you wanting by coming here? (What was you wanted?)
I just want to say (What you want to say?)
I.. yeah, I just wanna make a change (Do you? May be possible a change?)

My desire is to help but I’m castrated, frustrated.
Hold in this system, stigmatized by the environs, by my peers
who lost their hopes and want me to lose mine, or disappear.

Forced me to not name, not mention, nor stand for all civilians’ rights.
Hey y’all,  do you really wanna me out of mind?

Disillusioned. Making controversy is now unuseful,
But being accomplice it’s even worse, it’s awful.
I just want seek the truth and struggle in this jungle.

Unarmed. Poem is my only way to escape from burden and loads, 
Unsupported, I go ahead while I breath deeply among my thoughts,
I stand, walk alone throughout the smokes and roads

And thought on that quote about Hope, the only fire fuse:
“those powers of industry, their political arms who know we’re conscious of their abuse.
Only by raising awareness and promoting peace, then we can defy’em and refuse!”

​Kindly inform you that not with silence, nor indifference, is possible the real Revolution,
that you get through bravery, concern and heart. That’s the only solution.
Free from your cultural constrictions, the social restrictions, all the mental superstructures
that limit your free-dom and over whom, instead, men shaped their ideological dome.

Far from all of this, truth will come out, soon or later.

Listen to my shouting, it sounds like a prayer,
Must tell you one more time, my hopes’ll never die:
Until the last child, last victim won’t stop cry,
until words won’t be more powerful as before,
there’ll be no rest for this world, nor consolation for the sore.
And neither us, as humans-being, we won’t never feel part of it
in this Mess where we are all in.

(Damascus, Syria, February 2018)
*free reinterpretation of the Song “This Mess we’are in” – PJ Harvey, Thom Yorke
and of the Poem “Victims of a Down” – Daron Malakian, System Of A Down

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​This Mess we are in
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