Where the living have gone

WHERE THE LIVES WERE

A book that faces the evils of our time, in the sensitive gaze of the poet who does not conform to the state of things. A fake chronicle of poetry about times, places, memory and longing, love and amazement.

It is the picture of the world in decay, shattered, the cities in ruins with the deafening silence of souls who still inhabit the place with hope in the exercise of love. Who will we love when we are alone, isolated in a place of silence and absences, portraits of selfishness, violence and tensions that lead the world as we know it to crumble under our indifferent gaze?

Another image of the great cities full of people, displaying their highest material love, but absent in affections. In this work, the city and the body are confused. Just as love and hate merge to generate tensions and violence.

The poet throws himself with the only love he has left, for these bodies, sometimes alive, but absent, stateless, taken nowhere with ambiguous feelings, sometimes looking for somewhere safe, sometimes looking for better living conditions. The poet uses these absent bodies to mirror his longing, the pain of absence, a physical and spiritual pain, finding in his love the words to describe him, as one who cries or sings, but never delighted, before impressed with the capacity of self-destruct of the living who kill to save lives.

It's the desert image of love. It's the body in its own absence. It's life in ruins of life itself.