I’ve never dreamt to be a poet, I'd rather Brodsky be akin,
Be honest with myself and all the country theirs.
I'd rather be deprived, eccentric and a stupid thing,
Than hide my sins and trust in prayers.
I'd rather join the world eternity but not inside my body
Before I breath my last. I have no fear.
While still alive, we are a moving target.
There’s main concern: a shot in face or in your rear?
My merit to never hold grudges against my foes
Is void like a blast in a desert empty of any life.
Beware! It shall not change the orbit the planet goes,
But it may change you as you vow in futile cries.
No, I won't be a poet, won't bother your hearts with my word,
I'd rather stay home, hold my wife, be safe in my own Universe…
Though, it seems I've been introduced to the art by the Lord,
So there must be a reason behind my rhyme and my verse.
In between the confusion and panic of freedomless world,
We are ruled by the higher speeches designed to fight us.
Whether you're from Florida or Minnesota, I love you all.
We learned to trust nobody, right? But the ultimate foe is a virus.