Why am I alive
Why am I alive when everyone else is dead?
What gave me the right to survive when it was denied to all the others?
What do I do in a world of cruelty excelled in genocides,
when all of us who actually survived can’t do so
but with something of a guilty conscience just for being alive
when so many had to be denied that privilege for nothing?
We live by treading on the skeletons of long forgotten tragedies buried alive
and shamefully repressed for being so unpleasant and disturbing.
but that is the way of man: forget unpleasantness
and just enjoy the superficial pleasure, anything that makes you forget
the shadows of the past and its troublesome irrepressible ghosts
and just have fun and drink, be merry and make parties in the celebration
of the present superficiality and its passing nonsense
in the constant transcendence into absolute oblivion
in the temporary delights of delusional forgetfulness.
Poetry by Christian Lanciai
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Written on 2024-07-06 at 11:09
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