[Van Diemen’s Land]

by Diana Todea

God, what if we are all preys and hunters,
crawling beneath bushes and trees,
holding our breath till one of us passes
and jump furiously on his seducing throat?
I reckon we are hunters full of sin and anger,
passion and despair, lust, grievance and tiredness,
with humid eyes, we see no further than our instinct,
we beg for food, for shelter,
yet we decayed from our nature,
the shadows squirm in us like worms in an open corpse,
we see no further than our hands,
our dusty bodies,
our sadistic grimaces,
we mumble words for praying,
in lost territories
devouring each other.


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