Marco Di Caprio

My soul, wounded by pain,
becomes a corrupted genome,
without form, without end,
adrift in restless waves.

The fragments of my questions
return, whisper, insist,
without a place.

And everything within me divides:
closed and open,
high and low,
near and far,
thesis, antithesis, without synthesis.

The mind
does not accept ambiguity,
does not accept dissolution:
it does not want to erase you,
but to cradle you forever.

I visit places to forget,
but they are all the same without you.

In my aimless travels
I tried to arrive somewhere,
but every time I found a place
I was not there.

And even on returning
I was not there.

I arrived somewhere,
but not here.