december seeds

At the suburbs of Babel we hold surprises yet for the opinion makers who believe that our poor self will cater again for their parties ,  forgetting that the seeds are always invisible.

Here we are again in the swirl of history, electronic dervishes looking for vital space beyond our purchasable destiny.

In urban dreams' paths, we, a sculpture of flesh and asphalt in an ever changing exhibition every time the blood overflows.

Here we are in the strange arks of the multinational corporations disturbing unwilling beings that shake at every fall of the stocks.

Now that times are expecting and the smell of transition tickles nose sat the critical moment, when either we find our way out or we rust once and for all.

Against promising spectacles  we envisage a cop, who throws away his shield his heart is warm and beating at the rhythm of first love.

We demand the fall of consumption's wall. Disobedient citizens of those times  when every euro was translated into 1 milligram of antidepressants.

We throw up the dope of security at the faces of those who made a patent of freedom. who painted it on detergents' boxes who chopped it in fast-foods and served it in 50 instalments.

Our truth rips the nebula of the lobotomised that nurtured their peeping  through sealed windows surrounded by advertisements.

We won't stay inside our cocoon, we'll turn into chrysalises and we'll burn, we'll destroy, we'll enjoy that day as if it were our last.

We feed on ashes. Step by step  we conquer the spirit of a hawk, the calmness of a herb.

At the suburbs of Babel we hold surprises yet for the opinion makers who believe that our poor self will cater again for their parties,     forgetting that the seeds are always invisible.