AntiAmba

Buenos Aires - Argentina - before the time in confinement There is a place where I rest Crowed by trees Where curtains of rain Raise shadows of fear There is nowhere to go to You could not reach me even if you wanted to In this small plot of land, where strangers live wearing it out How much time do I have? To reverse the growing roots Soon I will be in the light Run to the ocean To always I have been

The tragedy of the commons In deep denial Where fear grows Forced confinement Populism, defetead In favor of a stronghold A sense of belonging Where lies do not become the truth