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ONE

One. One and only one. Mockery!

Songs, sculptures, lovers. And this is what it comes to?

One man. One to defy me? One to defy my empire?

Chants, prayers, tears of joy… I have all these. And this is what it comes to?

There he stands. All of this because of one?

Well then, one is vulnerable. All those vultures, and this is what it comes to?

Scourged lands… Blazing farms. All because of one?

Ha! One’s flesh can rip. All that training, and it comes to this?

They face each other… Through quicksilver murals they stare.

One carries the night on his shoulders, and it, as if afraid of filth, stops at his heels.

One dresses in a cloud, golden rays rest from the beginning to the lower back.

One ties his hair…black lances tied with a dark band.

One shakes his head, making curls leave his chest.

Both hold lances now, and their butts mark the pulse.

Each speeding, each defying the other. Blood boiling.

Heads spinning, veins bursting, both clash.

As the night settles, the yellow haired man wraps a white bandage on his palm,

Whatever took over him? Breaking mirrors….

As Starlight illumines the room, the dark haired man wraps a black bandage on his palm,

Whatever took over him? Breaking mirrors….

Hunt

Flashes of green and red,

A tempting collage

That dances,

Just out of reach.

Stings and bites,

Scratches and cuts,

That feed the sweat

That improves the race.

Of the paths that lead nowhere,

Of the roots that trip,

Of the mistakes,

No shame.

What is it

That is left?

Nothing but the fun,

Nothing but the struggle.

Oh to fight with the odds against us!

Nothing more appropriate

For the brave and

For the strong.

Untitled

Green-eyed child,

To your every look I melt,

Sweet nature,

At every wonder I remember her.

Was it love?

To see in your eyes my virgin jungles?

To see in your smile the very flash of heaven?

Or was it nothing,

To leave with dry lips,

To put more than an ocean between us…

Rose-cheeked child,

Into nothing you melt,

Flooding through the world,

You drowned me.

A day of Importance

Fourth of July.

Day of freedom to some,

Day of rebirth of imperialism to others,

A day of importance.

Twenty fourth of may.

Day of liberation to some,

Day of separation to others.

A day of importance.

Fifth of November.

Day of proclamation to some,

Day of terrorism to others,

A day of importance.

Eleventh of September.

Day of defiance to some,

Day of massacre to others,

A day of importance.

Yesterday,

Better than today to some,

Not as good as today to others,

A day of importance.

Today.

As good as some days,

As bad as others.

A day of importance.

Tomorrow.

Day of promises to some,

Day of hope to others,

A day of true importance.

Who do you work for I

Is the weight oppressing?

Do the chains cut into your wrists?

Do you see them starve?

Who do you work for?

Is the cross so thin you don’t see it?

Have you lost sense of touch in your heart?

Or maybe your wings are small enough for the cage,

Or, or just maybe, you fear what could be.

Silk they offer you.

But can’t you see the blades within them?

Don’t tie your hands brother,

Death is all there is down that lane.

Indeed, starvation is far from you,

But those grapes you eat, they come from far as well,

True, the food on your plate won’t make it to Africa.

So maybe stop bringing it.

Chaos is not an option. So systems it is.

But in them, we all work for someone.

Question is, deep down, deep down inside,

Whom do you work for?

Who do you work for II

You’re growing

You’re being educated.

You must soon choose a career,

You choose how to be sedated.

Who do you work for?

For what are you training, slave?

Who do you work for?

Whose pockets will you fill?

You’ve grown.

You’ve been educated,

You must soon choose a workplace.

You chose how you were sedated.

Who do you work for?

For whom does your sweat drip?

What do you work for?

Whose blood do you spill?

The attorney has a new case,

A branch fell on his client’s car.

The farmer has the same work as yesterday,

The field awaits.

After signing a few papers,

after discussing the damage the branch did,

the attorney has lunch.

No pain to his pocket is his fifty dollar Italian penne.

After sweating all morning,

After filling crates to feed others,

The farmer has lunch.

It hurts his back to stir the cold soup.

What do we work for?

What work do we do?

Who do you work for?

Whose work do you do?

Every little action

Has it’s own reaction.

You reap what you sow,

Yet, one doesn’t die the death of what one killed.

For whom does free trade work?

Whose blood does it take?

For whom does your government work?

For whom does your sweat drip?

Do not blind yourself by everyday things.

Be merciful to other markets.

Do not blind yourself by money.

The world is not yours for the taking.

Who do you work for?

Is it for your brother?

Is it under your master?

Is it for you? For me?

For whom does your master work for?

For my Andean brother? For my African brother? For anybody’s brother?