El Chorrillo

 

your tears are felt

like polluted drops from the dark pillows

of that which seems to be sleeping

you scream to awaken it

you scream to be heard

by those afraid to hear

by those who do not want to hear

who do not want your mouths too close to their ears

they could then feel the breath that is fading

they could then feel the breath that has stopped

they were not there

when it seemed as if the kingdom had collapsed

and was falling from the sky

as shrapnel flew from thunder

louder than the command that banished the angel

so many hopes and prayers ago

as sleek savage birds chirped a horrific awakening:

your freedom is not yours

your lives are not yours.