Indirect To The Point... Poem by Sebastian Soberania

you realize that the beauty of this undertaking is the talking
to yourself, and there you begin to find meaning, you begin to
love solitude, you talk and talk, you keep on asking questions and
since you are alone in the room you answer your own questions and
you listen to your own pauses, you think, you keep on thinking and
often you describe the details around you,

there are no words in bed, no punctuation over the window.
there are no clinching statements at the door, neither is there
a shadow on the wall, except your hands that know how to trick you

with a dog or a dove, and this happens most of the times when you
escape from the huddle and the muddle of the gargle, ...nothing makes sense actually when you simply begin to play with words....

but there is a reality of all these: a window for instance, framed,
and the view that it tries to hold with its face, a scenery of mountains and clouds, at night stars and winds...

you see, there is no harm in being a talker, specially when you need it most, when you are not waiting for anybody coming to this house.

the cellphone rings. someone is in need of ten thousands pesos. You doubt of course if he really needs it. There is a time to say no now.
Time to think, Time to be alone. you had been cheated many many times and this will be the nth time already, when you are a fool because you cannot live alone by yourself. They cheat you and you are so dumb.