Candid Litany

We are the children of the dogs who didn't want to bark,
the bellows from the wings that hell exhaled
under the engines of that plane in which your grandfather cursed
from the World War.

We are the children of the funerals that smiled at death
with the murmur of incendiary soundtracks
tightened against your leg,
steeled in the corners of any rebellion.

We are the mud that you don’t remember
but which lives within you when,
in the middle of nothing,
you ask perplexed why we’re not all dead.

We are, in the end,
that hypocritical tear that you did not shed

that day that you let pass by waiting for better days

the grimace of envy drawn on your coffin:

all you, dying meat,

brilliant skeleton of past lives

in the shadow of young girls in a death rattle

eager for the beak of the albatross they drag and promises them unreasoned love;

those that, now, at this moment

claw at their soul thinking if,

for just one instant,

they're going to stop being the face of their youth
burned at the bonfire
of the silk prayer that embraces
them in a choke hold
while, in the not so distant future
their twin sisters are laughing.

Published by Rosario Curiel, Wednesday, 18 April 2018
http://rosariocuriel.blogspot.com/