‘On the Lookout’

I usually accompany each painting with a poem I have written myself. Lurking. A figure lurks, With its back turned on this mad humanity. In another reality that urges Manipulated versions of the stories they tell us Of stories of yesteryear, of today and of tomorrow. Just because they want to In an explosion of uncoordinated hands Russian roulette of emotions from generations etched in the collective memory. Beings who feign a rotten peace In the hope of burning war into our hearts Lurking. As in 1984 Playing at war and peace Which watches over us in dewdrops controlled by the sphere of power In a pale blue of a constricted throat Ham The voices of those who know and see echo The stories they tell us, Falling amongst the embers of humanity. 04.03.2025