Poesía

Love, Not War

 

A prophet spake from a mountain-top:

“Make love, not war, I implore,”

And memory filled with inconceivable suffering,

Misery of millions of African slaves,

Misery for which we know no words,

As for the Jews murdered at Birkenau.

 

 

 

Death, Dream, and Unconsciousness,

The three states of the person - for the Chiquitos;

They are the three Abuelos,

Not permitted to join the fiesta.