Chicano Poet

Tuesday, August 01, 2006


It was but moments ago I died.
I heard the planes overhead
and now silence crushes my bleeding ears.

Just this morning I played games
in the rubble of the bombed-out buildings,
hungry and thirsty,

but being a child, one has to play
even in time of war.
I dreamt of a day

with empty skies
or harmless clouds, playmates,
like the one lying next to me.

I know it’s her
but I don’t recognize her face
and I know she doesn’t recognize mine.

In the pressurized cabin
the triumphant pilot can almost reach out
and touch the face … of evil.


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