Onwards (#TowardsTheFall)

[originally published by Lundi matin. translated by ediciones inéditos]

 

We move not onwards
We will never move onwards ever again
We will never remain ever again
Calm
Face down
We will not complain anymore
We move not onwards
We run towards the tricolor flame extinguishers in hand
We will not stop anymore
Neither at the red
Nor for the words which would say
Calm down

We move not onwards
We will never move onwards ever again
Looking to the sides
Seeing what the billboards say
We move not onwards
Rather we are grounded
Immobile
Liked pointing breed dogs
Attentive
Outstretched body and soul
Towards all which resembles a crack
Towards a cry
Towards a cop
Towards friends
Towards enemies
Towards the present
We ignore tomorrow since the walls say that
Tomorrow is canceled

We move not onwards
And by not deciding on a single head of the hydra
We shall cut them all
So to make hats of them
We move not onwards
We float zig-zag
Between the tear gas bombs
And vain analyses
That we should be realists
We are not on our way
We flee the question
Torture
The shockbox
The cables linked directly to our brain
We flee your desire for us to define ourselves

(This us is six-year old you stealing a candy)

We shall not choose
Between living to work or working to live
We work our lives
And seek out in every corner of the earth
Those in need of life
Those who want life
Or those who have had too much of it

(This us is you who is fifty year old and shucks your computer outside your office window)

This us does not exist
This us does not move onwards
This us does not decide
There is only us
Who know who we are
And who we are not

(This us is the you balancing a rock, jumping & laughing)

(Shouting)
I do not move onwards
I am already so far ahead
And far within
And this is the way

(This us is the you who suddenly looks up from their screen and is smacked by the sadness of the metro.
This us is the you who understands that to become proudly indignant is another way of accepting things.
This us is the you who thought yourself rebellious one Sunday.
This us is the you who suddenly no longer hears the flow of the words that thump against the incrustation of your skull.
This us is the you who imagines yourself behind an imaginary line, unable to bypass it.
This us is the you who surprises you wanting to burn everything down.
This us is the you who realizes that the friends around you make up the only real party.
This us is the you who discovers on earth and under your skin a new you which swarms, which listens, which organizes itself and waits no more.)

 

 

 

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