except for the new landmarks
the erased bank of the
river, a new route
a new name of the street
another mayor of this town
and a few of his
selected council, a new market
cemented roads, and
a purple colored mall,
new faces of children
a set of migrants,
nothing really changed here
the town still bears the mark of torture
silenced screams, disappearing souls
still seeking the hall of justice,
bodies in pain, faces shrinking,
disfigured bones
unaccounted names of children
used for the choked revolution
these matters still hold the truth
in both hands, they still exist and hound
and howl
and haunt us.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem