Harold Rivas
There is a girl sitting in a room full
of mirrors, in the palace of illusions.
She looked at herself in the mirror
but she doesn’t recognise herself.
A stranger, a projection, a mirage.
In visions, a shadow perceive troops
in the millions of men and women
marching towards destruction,
destroying imagination, sinking
in the depth of sameness repetitions
I miss you, I miss your voice,
that sweet voice of yours!
The one I felt in love with.
There must be a reason
For our encounter...
a mystery,