i read it again
amazed by what you said
as you were saying
you write a note about a man that they put in prison
for being ideological
very unlike the masses that go to congress and adopt a dress code
and stick to the rules of speech
propriety, that is the main rule,
not justice, conformity not creativity,
contentment not exploration and so on and so forth
summed up with your
etcetera,
giving medical assistance is beyond ideology
the sick man deserves to be given his dose of medicine
whatever he is
he is the sick man and he needs help
why hinder the good samaritan
why ask for his ID?
his political belonging
i wonder where is this journey taking us?
to hell? where is it?
it is here.
but this is not the end of your story
neither mine shall end here,
i ask you to spell a word: atrocities
a word in plural form
which you pronounce so well by enunciating the
'o' in there
nothing is funny now
i stopped laughing since then
i buried my jokes
anticipating that soon we shall bury too
another body
of Jesus Christ, copycats are we and they
survive the mess
they still sit there and judge all of us
for we have not lived the way they envision society
yes people, monkeys still, monkeys eating monkeys,
cannibalism, and yet, what irony is there
they tell us that we are strange,
that we need a rehabilitation, to be put back within the four corners
of their universities, and oh, what a mess
funded by the people.
tell me how can i stop this
poetry of anguish?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem