Sal Godoij

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You have opened a wound

You have opened a wound
Don’t think about it
You don’t have to mull over it

You have opened a wound
Don’t remember it
You don’t have to

You have opened a wound, and that’s it
Somewhere around your space
Suspended
It observes you
The wound
It observes you, I say
I don’t know if it condemns you
That’s is your part
You own it; you are the master of yourself

If you have opened a wound
It is there
Somewhere alive
It beats
It breathes
It doesn’t close

Go and uncover that wound
Unearth it
Break the bandages with which you
Perhaps unknowingly
Ignorance is not an excuse; you have been notified, haven’t you?
The wound, I say, that you did open and then you covered
Uselessly

No! That wound is a sun
You cannot cover it with a finger
It’s a sun, I repeat
That burns you, and also enlightens you
A sun which reminds you that once upon a time you were a bad person

No! There isn’t a sin on that
We’re all bad persons once or twice in our lives
In our daily evil
Lies the balance of the good that lives in the whole

A mischief, I say, acceptable until it reaches the point
Where it cannot longer be called a children’s play
Opens wounds
About this, I want you to be certain of

Wounds that neither God can avoid nor heal
Because God, for good or for bad
He too opens wounds
Every second, every hour, every day, a lifetime
Instant wounds, unexpected, surprisingly painful, sharp
Bleeding, deep, incurable wounds

Thus, it’s important for you to know
That you have opened a wound
No, I repeat, I’m not saying that you think about it
I’m not saying that you remember it

The wound that once you did open
Is still there
Floating in the space of your dreams
In the air you breathe
In your skin when you dress and when you undress

It’s there in the water you drink
And in your daily bread
In whatever you gobble up and then you puke
In every commandment that rules your body

It’s an open wound and it pursues you
You opened it
Naturally
You gave it birth
Life

But pains in others
Likewise those wounds you see in the movies
Which bleed on the screen but the blood doesn’t reach you
Because it’s neither your show nor your blood
It’s a strange show in which you hold no part

An open wound in others, I say, in them
Them….but who are they?
A woman? A man? Many women? Many men?
A multitude?
How many are out there? Who are they?

How many people can you hurt, without you knowing it?
I don’t know but it’s a fact
They carry their wound in their skin, in their souls, in their memories
Each one of them walks their wounds along the streets of your dreams

And you don’t understand
You don’t understand the language of this anguish
That comes back to you when you’re asleep
That’s why there is not hurt in coming back
To your memories
When you’re awake

I’m not asking you that you think about it
I don’t ask you that you mull over it
I just want you to know that lighting up your days
There is a lamp on
Sometimes the light burns your eyes
And you don’t know what’s happening

I’m here to tell you
Something you did to deserve it
Something you bought and you didn’t pay for it
A long time now from your present day

Perhaps you did something else
Something really bad
Necessarily bad
That’s why the wound still bleeds, still beats
Still pains in others, still breathes, still doesn’t close

This wound necessarily unforgettable
Perhaps not for you, I say, but to others
But this doesn’t justify you
An open wound justify nobody

Therefore, you must confront it
You must try to heal it
And I say, watch out!
Because this wound still bleeds
And it might as well be you

You, a wound to which, with the years
The bandage has gotten loose and fell
And the wound shows open
And it possesses you
And your sorrows sprout up and grow free

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