voices and faces

if one cannot hear oneself

among other voices

is one truly free?

...

puzzle pieces lie before me—

I am without a guide

is it possible to live

without devoting one’s life

to a single truth, or not?

...

such loneliness

I cannot exalt with what I say

nor sicken my stomach any further

...

my borders neighbor a land

that feeds on turmoil

I’ve lived there

since the day I was born

the coat I hung to dry

is full of bullet holes

...

my people are not happy

yet children fly kites in my hair

houses smoke in my eyes

...

I cannot return

to my mother’s womb

nor can I dwell in another heart

where is that window

that faces the street—

a few flowers, a trace—

isn’t even a god’s guest

content with the hardest bed?

...

among these faces

let there be one that is mine,

unafraid to hide in its own shadow