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Change

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.

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