Our acts aren’t the result of our free will
They are simply pretty and foolish efforts
Elapsing between two moments of stasis
With the unique and sad intention
Of making the waiting less tedious and painful.
Only few instants are [bad word] intense
Like the moment when you land
blow after an asphyxiating and breathless concentration
And the blow will allow you to free your most precious vital space
Till now oppressed, [bad word] and seriously endangered
By the nimblest [bad word] Aware and heedless of his disengaged final condition
We are strangely attracted by the moment’s changes
More or less curious, indeed, we react to climatic events
No one can know, better than us, that we avoid
Absorbing that tinkling element by being ready
To protect our wretched ego with phoney and fake
Portable barriers, charged with visible
Radiations only without any seeming aim.
Affective games seems to be an [bad word] matter
Although we try and retry to disown this emotional appendix
We are enraptured and nervously tossed in another
Logic of mind with the only goal to cloud
And to remove from us the coveted disengaged final condition