Witness and part
Today I just thought about you, dear Allen Ginsberg. After posting my last poem I was unsatisfied. I had a look at my copy of Howl â€“ always on my bedside table- and I have thought that you would like to come and walk the dog with me, so we can talk about how times have changed, how I feel witness and part.
I see the best minds of my generation to work for a mediocre salary and pay a mortgage of 40m2.
I see how they lost their homes and they have to keep on paying till they havenâ€™t reached the moment to retire.
I see people without a job, without unemployment assistance, without a close future.
I see the most prepared generations of our history to look for the boarding gate and leave, as it happened during the years that this country was less free.
I see how precariousness takes over our lives, we that had everything our parents couldnâ€™t have. We what had everything that hour children wonâ€™t have.
I see rage, indignation, full streets, boiling squares.
I see tax havens, patients without attention, attics in Marbella, schools without heating.
I have seen you, dear Allen Ginsberg, howling in madness, hysteric, naked. I have seen you looking for a dark place to love, I have seen you pursuing Cassidy in Denver. Tell me, you that saw Walt Whitman and Lorca, how did you manage not to fall in the despair of a lost generation, advice me, I also have the sensation that I have given everything, and I am nothing now.
Tell me is this is enough, if syntax, grammar, and metaphor are enough. Because this country is not. Or itâ€™s maybe too much. So I hang to this, dear Allen, because itâ€™s the most sacred thing I have. Holly.