XII
Come, sit next to me, and let’s recall
the horrible explosion’s echo
in the tympanums of the dying soldier
alive image in his retina, stamped
in the life of his dead body thrown
in the mud of rainy season when the birds
prepare their nests the dead soldier
will never see, parts of the sky that
fell in the form of raindrops
gleam amid the foggy shadow of his irises
when darkness took him away
come, let us observe the killer’s hand, raised
and wielding the knife that fell like a sword
and violated the flesh of innocence
down deep in Tartarus where the innocent
always find their refuge, come, take
my hand and let us feel the horrible image
Libros Libertad 