Like a government resettling


For returning you to the country

Of your birth

Not having made it on the

Dark Continent.


The period of adjustment hurts

It’s painful sapping of last energies

Through internal domestic strife

Or with some old friends

Eye to eye

Naked soul to naked soul

Until you absolve the grand

Internal catharsis.


It’s a witness protection to a world

One does not wish you to know

But to have powers over you

Smoothly forcing you to the knees.

Of course.


An artist always finds a way

Past the censor of his mind structures

In a speedy effort

The censor is asleep to react

Or has failed to detect and find.





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