Reborn
(A poem deformed, without metrics neither foot nor head. More or less as the world walks.)
Children who want to play adult;
In your make-believe world, making up the bed,
Making food, serving the complaining doll,
Making deals or dating a hidden friend.
Playing cart - Vruum! Vruum!
Or playing war - ratata!
Playing doctor, who will heal
Imaginary diseases, no fear at all.
Children who can imagine themselves being grown up:
Rationalizing conversations and pretending to study,
Getting into serious business and wanting to know everything,
Thinking you're ladies of your own lives.
Adults who want to play child;
Procrastinating readings and studies more,
Going-and-coming to Uber, sitting in the back seat,
Complaining about how to drive every day gets tired.
Choosing to kill and die in real wars,
running away from decisions for which you are responsible,
Living like everything's allowed and disposable,
Treating your mental illness like a joke.
Seeking pleasure in a stranger to betray his partner,
Running away from responsibilities, looking for fun;
Spending more than you can, and blowing up the card,
Looking for the lap of a father who's not coming back.
Mature children, adult children; seeking what makes them
The ideal of the other, abandoning what they do not like,
And dedicated to a life that boils down to nothing:
Fake loves, plastic lives, empty sensations, reborn babies.
