In Our Souls

I was in the back bar this evening listening to the hum of the air-conditioner and I started to hum too. In the hum of something created by another man, I heard myself and I started to sing.


Tears connect us,

like old friends.

Some started helping me.

Through the sands of time

there was light

water from the foroughs

sandy escape

only time could tell

as I began to dance.

I listened to my core

from cold-to-hot

smokey journey

landscape bare.

Through the tuning fork

were invisible

mirrors in the sand.


I stood before a masterpiece in


I grazed my hands upon

the canvas

then walked away.

People thought I was


I spoke to myself

and grabbed my head.

Children were afraid.

I fell and for the

longest time no one picked

me up, until someone

finally called.

I am just not well.

Knowing as much as I do

so I run from you

into the empty space.

Combing the planet

raising my arms:

“Hear me!”

What is within my soul

speaks to yours.


  1. This very scenario happened to me today, where a man lay on the ground just outside of SFMOMA. I bent over and asked him if he was OK. He immediately sat up. I could smell alcohol on his breath. He seemed lucid otherwise. It would appear that the wonderful sun coupled with his intoxication gave his body the idea of laying back and enjoying it.

    As I walked, I contemplated calling the police, but they would have locked him up. I am sure he didn’t want that, but then again it might have helped him.

    I contemplate now of having gone home and driven back to take him home since I got there on BART. But, then I don’t know in what mental state he is. Meanwhile, I have been reading The History of Madness and know inherently, perhaps, from whence madness comes.

    I do not have an answer yet, but perhaps it will come.

  2. What I see in the video when the man falls down (from minute 2.23 till 2:53) is really sad. So many people passing by and no one stopping to help, at least to call an ambulance. About the man you tried to help I am sure you tried to do your best. Sometimes it is very difficult to know what to do in such situations because you immediately think of the consequences of your act. As you very well say, you knew calling the police would mean locking him up. I haven’t read The History of Madness but I know Foucault analyzes the structural causes that lead people in our society to become outcasts, that is, people like criminals becoming prisoners and mad people locked up in mental institutions.. We end up locking them up because they are seen as a threat to the established society and its members, which is partly true, but we do not search for the causes, we do not put enough prevention to tackle the problem in its origin. That is a shame. And this is how I see your poem, Tears connect:
    A beautiful, passionate and eloquent description of the inner soul, of someone wanting to be listened to. People’s indifference to this cry for help. This person who needs help grazes a red canvas, a color that could symbolize blood, a bleeding soul. Dominant feeling the reader gets: DESPAIR with a bit of HOPE as in the end someone may help.

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