War, against you a wall rises in silence, stone and secret, stone, and hatred. The destroyed city hides its weapons, sores, and screams in the grass. Fields where metals marked us in the forehead. War of beasts that rape maddened mothers in front of their children crucified on electric poles. How can you sleep with the dead abandoned in the squares? Why have you destroyed us? How can you sing with a foreign foot on history? We are fear of a closed room where a dead man rests all his thorns. War, in our soil, love and weeping rot so as not to repeat that pit of ashes, the death you give us. We are inhabitants of the fire with its tombs by the sea. Men who are built to the measure of weapons since death has played in many ways.
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When I close my door
PoetryI dedicate this work to all the friends who are left in the heart. To all those who love me. In When I close my door, a social interest and a renunciation for the sake of communication is explicit, the subject destroys his exterior, recomposes himse...
