Friday, August 10, 2007
This poem is about living with death squads in Colombia
Don't say that you have thirst, they will give you a
glass with your blood.
Don't say that you have hunger, because
they will serve you your chopped fingers
Don't say that you are sleepy, because they will sew
your eyelids with thread.
Don't say that you love someone, because
they will bring you their heart putrified
Don't say you are looking for God, because
they will place a hot coal in your mouth.
Don't say that it is beautiful the dew that
sweetly covers the fields, because
in each heavenly drop they will inject pestilence.
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