Fighting
Distant times and echoes that return to the mind,
they break against the rocks of the present,
and leave nothing but a sense of anguish, of melancholy,
a great desire to shout "come back!".
Now I remember, lying in my bed,
when I was young and discovered the beauty
of a friendship, and I understood that a good friendship is made of discoveries:
a sunset, a forest, sharing,
a vacation, a new place, the right time,
singing, playing, building.
Such a great void,
that cannot be covered,
however difficult it may be
you have to try to fill it
and you can't do it, alone.
Like being transplanted
into a hole in the ground,
with a farmer
who after watering you
tells you: "now sink your roots,
nourish yourself and grow".
You can no longer live then
behind a desk,
a domestic wall,
a mask.
You don't win a war
by staying in the trench,
but by facing the enemy,
killing him, in action,
not being afraid to invade his field
and to play dirty, if necessary.
Boredom, fear, insecurity:
I can fight against them every day,
and win them with the right weapons.
Live like a warrior
at the service of his king.