Thursday, April 28, 2016

NaPoWriMo # 45 Despierta Boricua, despierta!

Epistle to future poets

Poems are long avenues
where our burning rage marches.
Everywhere the crying,
everywhere a black wall besieged.
Could our poetry be a solitary column of dew?
It has to be perpetual thunder
as long as children stare
at a loaf of bread with envy.

There are higher things to mourn than lost lovers:
the sound of a society finally awakening
is more beautiful than the dew,
the glittering metal of its anger
more beautiful than sea foam.
A free man is purer than a diamond.

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