My little swallow [The Collection of Tragedies]

My little swallow

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My child days indeed were airy. I mourn,
for the wind blew 'em away with too much ease
and replaced my carefree nights with awareness
that things are not going well beyond the border.

Oh, my little swallow!
People do not listen and they do cross the line.
I showed 'em my empty hands, yet that's what they saw.
They grabbed my arms and dragged me to their land,
and pierced me with a scorn as I left their otherhood.

Forgive me, my little swallow, 'cause of the ardent conflict
my bitter tears can't refill the riverbeds.
They won't water dead trees and ashy grasses.
Those lofty mountain peaks stand no longer,
shredded to pieces; volcanos of mankind's ire.

''The land is over, but the sky's open,'' I console you.
I hold your light, black coat and kiss your head.
Fly away, for I don't want you to see me
resting on our homeland's greenness,
when I feel no life in me.

Fly so high,
hope you'll never feel sorrow.
Rule the borderless sky,
my little swallow.

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Art credit to T. Allen Lawson.