The art of being invisible

There’s a certain world
around me,
 
everywhere
I turn.
 
people are there
but I’m not.
 
among them
I’m irrelevant
and I’m sorry.
 
different worlds of desire
exist around me
flying as winds
 
and they’re tied by
soft foundations of their
relationships and their
heartbreaks
 
and I
understand them
 
but they don’t understand
me
and I’m sorry.
 
there’s
an eternal dreamer
living among you
 
and you don’t even know how
the darkness
is only one silk curtain
under which
he’s happy to hide
 
until it gets eaten up
by moths of the
morning sun.
 
and he’s a star in the sky
flickering
as if every moment
he’s about to fall
on one’s palm
 
but he doesn’t fall —
he disappears in the light of a day
because then
he doesn’t belong
among you
 
and for that
he is not sorry.
 
and you should maybe try
to understand
why
 
because he can’t.
 
 
 
neither
can I.




©Tom Del Braco

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