This morning when you said goodbye,
I have no inkling that it will be your last
Assassin's bullets felling you at the side-street
of Polanco.
I told you to stop selling meth even to children
in school.
Even if we have little food, the moon shining through our thatched hut,
Rain passing through drenching our sleeping bodies,
We have each other, we have love and our children loving us.
But you did not listen, the madness you peddled you also took,
Frying your brains inside out twisting reasons
Until you started hurting us your family who loved you.
This morning when you said goodbye I did not utter any word
Because I have lost you long time ago already.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem