The man in the raincoat

His eyes tear the air with the accumulated hatred that he carries inside. Through his dark glasses he looks at us sharply and senses the fear that our hearts harbor. He haunt in all corners behind the flowered jasmine. He stretch your nose to feel better. Any movement of the air follows it with its aquiline nose to the confines of the springs. It haunts us with gunpowder and the labyrinths of the indecipherable. Proud of controlling the subtle thread of our lives, from time to time he makes us breathe in filthy sewers without letting the throbbing of anguish crumble. He prepare the best in the cobweb that dislodges our meats at the gallop of slow sweat. He concocts a tidal wave and accuses us of letting him come before our astonished gazes. He puts on his hat and raincoat again ready to take a walk through our wounds. Wait for us to ease ourselves to start over with the rage that carries with it.