The Cost Of Terror And Two Chilean Women Poem by Alexandro Johns

A grandmother, a mother and her five year old son
Where in Le Bataclan that day.
They had moved to Paris-
Away from the hatred of Los Andes.
From Chile they came, bringing only pain and nostalgia
To share your legacy, Douce France,
And to embrace your Liberté.

Which woman can, by her thoughts alone,
Give us kisses sweeter than wine: a better life?
Though we die for her?
Only you, Douce France.

Whenever our towers collapse
We look straight to your Tour Eiffel.
Nobody ever died of sadness close to you.
My compatriots learned to enjoy life
Until death fragments pierced their bodies.
They must have thought that across the ocean
The angry sounds of an earlier time
Had reached them from their distant land.

And from that fire and with their souls,
They protected the child,
Who was newly learning to name you.
Hand in hand he walked out
With the little prince of Saint-Exupéry,
Toward the Boulevard Voltaire.
Since that day, he takes care of you,
Our beloved Liberté.