by: Christian Tordecillas
I like to sing while the wind joins
The sounds of horses in our rooftops,
I like to sing louder as the endless notes
From axes and saws fell down my knees,
Making our place like seas and our
houses like weeds.
I like to dance while the frogs
Within those trees that had been flat
That had made the tempo of the waters
Extract juices of mud,
Flowing to the beat of thunder.
I like to fly while all my tiny buds
Rest with more wonderful wishes,
To meet their fairies of any of those nine
Our eyes are closed,
Wishing for another new day,
Filled with fresh trees,
Or just thin wonderful notes of birds.
All the notes had gone extreme,
The rhythm of noises from the
grasses not trees,
Cracked the heart of nature,
To make drums,
To make filthy fountains,
Painting the houses
To dirty black and solid gray.
I still like to sing,
I still like to dance,
I still like to fly,
But the angry force of my green mother,
Welcomed visitors of soils.
Mother grabbed my tiny buds,
Washed out their bloods,
Molded them up with her angry strength,
As the filthy juice
Of melted remains of flat trees,
Juice of filthy cracked soils,
Gave to stop their nostrils,
Until it reached mine.
Mother made our throat heavy,
So we can’t sing,
Mother made our feet stiff,
So we can’t dance,
And mother made my buds wither,
So we can’t fly.