Words can lie, especially the promising ones.
When we were one day late, I realized that even time was colonized.
I felt like fish in the market.
Preserved like a mummy.
Marinated with my eyes bleached.
———–
Buildings don’t hide, especially the unfinished ones.
The bamboo sticks were carrying the roof while the colossal columns were sold on the roadside.
Look at the termitaria on the grassland of savannah.
Red like torch flames.
Burn one down, and more would rise here and there.
———–
The market always thrives, no matter how shabby the stands are.
We walked through the fish part, and I already had enough.
I knew I would never be the same.
Men carried bags with bare hands and women with their heads.
Their voices never drowned by the rain, and the pain they shouldn’t have had.
River on Baltic Sea 
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