Sometimes this writing is like a nagging disease,
This ebullient pen won't leave me in peace.
I want to write about daisies and skies
But it works on the words, to expose some lies.
Like it has a mind of its own to discourse
On the violence of some so blinded by force,
Arrogant and loud because of their number
Everyone's condemned if none join them here,
And we're pushed like cattle in our own country,
That my pen rebels at this hypocrisy
Their pretense at migration has left us numbed,
Now we grasp at the trap into which we succumbed.
The pen has turned fiery red with its ink
I have to write its truth, no matter what they think.
Cynthia Buhain-Baello~~~02.21.15
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem