The early night is a primitive friend, an aborigine
of the last millennium
Its body smells of inheritance and tired dew
I am always a fugitive
We sit together near the palace quietly
We have swallowed food mixed
with our own deception
The kings, presidents and ministers teach us
the calendar of unforgettable events
The rivers flow with our misconstruction
It’s our drink
I yearn to learn more about the manual
of the escape artist
Have we not seen resistance and peace
from the secret window in our attic ?
We deconstruct happiness (a yellow building with
large windows) and justice (an opera house)
brick by brick and stand guard again at the palace
before we are hand-picked
yet again for some other offence