Sometimes serious

I hear cries from deserted streets Agonized and mobilized moanings of idea against idea This organized violence supposedly is the representation of our times. But the antidote is in the poison. Sutures are used here before wounds are allowed to bleed. We become nonplussed travelers without opinions in our own land Not to embrace others but to tolerate them Alienate, exonerate them Change does not exist in crying on a street Where everyone is crying about different things.