I still look for vital answers into mundane questions

I still hold the right words into the wrong sentences
I still share my present with a one so absent
I still touch the same sores that haven’t been treated
I still persist in the cradle of a lie
I am still comfortable lying in this wish to stand…

I still crawl
Although I learnt to walk
I still cry
Although my eyes are dry
I still lay
Although I want to sit

I still look for you in each and every slot of this wall
Full of cannon fires
I still pose between the shootings
Just to feel this bitter blowing
I still look into the window when the war is going on
I still find peace into my self
When I close all those doors
I still tend to pin my eyes, and try to sleep in wrong times
And I am still,
in the middle of the storm.

Written by Yasmim Franceschi