I saw you bleeding
In the green mornings
when childhood flows
to schools like creeks,
in the wondering blood
when it dyes the walls,
in the dry brooks
where the searchers of freedom find refuge,
in the black signboards of the victims
as they hide
the isolation of the bereaved
and the in haughtiness of the cheap death.
I saw you bleeding,
so bulky of rivers and mud,
laughed at the naivety of the transitory
and you have no wound
but the songs of hypocrisy.
O first earth.
I smelt your perfume
in the post stamps
and in the pictures of the dates piled up
on the tourists pavements;
and I listened to you in the sighs of the singer
spreading your eternity on the grand children:
"Who wants me?
I am the last herb
to paradise, and I am the flame longing
I am a country, its sons explode and raise again
I am the first earth
never depends but on my own blood".
I saw your cut off fingers
searching the soil
for my lost seed.
I tasted your sadness
and heard you spreading your serenity in the valley:
You who want to kill me
I am the dead who never dies
and I will never disclose my golden names,
you who want my time
the flowers are my time
and a hot perfume,
my banners, penetrated with sadness,
will be my limitless charm:
from the east to the river
and from the river to the sands
crazy spikes crawling to the miracle.
There is an alienation at home, in the living room
and in front of the TV;
Alienation in the street,
where there is the fury, the glaring sun and the red explosions;
Alienation in the market, where there is the clamor of the sellers
and the rush of the buyers;
Alienation in the cafe, where the upset
customers gossip about the last news in the media;
And there is an alienation in my egos
when they unify in a time and split in another.
The end of the story
It was the same story
but the story teller said,
or that was what we knew,
that when the claws of the king lengthened
he scratched his skin.
Since then black snakes came out of him
finding their ways in the east and the west of the earth
till night and day mixed
and the world went back to the primeval.
Yet the story teller didn't complete.
When tomorrow came
the sleepy, awaking audience remained
waiting and waiting
not knowing that the story teller
had been swallowed by the snakes
and the crazy king
was changing his skin every day.