By Angel André Osorio
Building as a Layman
Beautiful struggle. Maybe, at the end of the day It is true that, Instead of trying to carve out & neatly stack Impeccable blocks of ivory and marble, We should try to build a home With the endless but seldom useless Piles of rubble The explosions of life bestow upon us. It really might be the smart thing to Face and embrace our many troubles. Perhaps, that’s the way… But how should I know? I’m not an architect.
King of Thieves
Exile didn’t help. Oh no, It certainly did not. He would be forever tied To this once so prosperous realm By the malicious thread of her lips and That one last breath He stole from her decaying lungs A lifetime ago, Just to get by On his way into oblivion.
Bulletsponge
Of course this life Is not the Matrix. At least not In a literal sense. & so I didn’t dodge the bullet Once I saw it flying my way. In fact, I took it rather willingly. Right to the heart While I hoped for the best. The best never happened, obviously. & so here I lie, Alone. Bleeding from the center of my being. But at least I’m somehow still Alive. & soon I’ll be ready To defy death Once again.
Automaton
[au·tom·a·ton, definition: a moving mechanical device made in imitation of a human being.]
Left, right, left, right,
Left.
His cold limbs moved rhythmically,
Taking him nowhere.
The automaton.
He didn’t think.
He didn’t feel.
& he simply didn’t know better.
So he kept moving
In the ever same staccato,
Everywhere but forward.
The automaton.
No home.
No connections.
No love –
Above all, no love.
But wait –
A tiny, barely perceivable memory
Lingering
In a remote corner
Of what used to be his mind.
If you looked very closely
& knew certain things,
The memory seemed to have a face and a name
& once upon a time, a life of its own.
But the automaton’s days of seeing and knowing
Were long gone…
& so, of course
He couldn’t remember that this memory
Was one of his past life
As a human being…
As a beautiful, full-grown, witty man.
In fact, it wasn’t just any memory.
It was the very memory that kept him
So vigorously human back then
But now so trapped in his current form.
There was a time
When it was more than a memory, of course.
That is, before it grew tired.
Tired of the burden of life,
Tired of his love and warmth and shelter,
Tired of herself more than anything.
So she left.
Never to be seen again…
Except right there, in the form of a memory
At the very back of his long-lost mind,
Lingering.
Silently torturing him without his knowledge.
For knowledge, right next to love, is among the noblest human qualities.
Yet she had stolen his love, thereby taking his humanity with her,
Condemning him to this machine-like state
Forever.
If only she had abandoned him completely,
As she promised…
Perhaps
There would be a glimmer of hope
For our dear automaton.
Perhaps
He wouldn’t have to walk the ruins
Of the unending fallen city
Without sense,
Without aim.
Perhaps he wouldn’t keep on
Looking for her
Unconsciously –
Perpetually.
But even though she had long left,
The memory of her didn’t have the courage to disappear;
To stop
Lingering
Within the comfort of his broken circuits.
& so the automaton remains lost
In the same soulless
Ever-seeking existence
Until the end of time.
Angel André Osorio is a 28-year-old writer of Spanish origin, currently based in Cologne, Germany. Shortly after graduating from law school, he enrolled in an English degree program and immersed himself in the world of literature.
After experiencing many ways of life during his stay in several European countries, he now aims to convey his fascination with some and his aversion toward others, as well as his personal journey, in the form of poetry and prose. He wrote his first poem in the early months of 2019 and his first short story soon thereafter. Since then, his repertoire has grown to over 400 poems and 40 short stories, with no end in sight
Academy of the Heart And Mind 