(A drum to Magdalena )
bare feet without direction,
when rivers overflow fire,
there is no more that run,
take the speed of the wind, biting dust,
breathing by cracked gums
running gullies under the night.
Breezes are not strange and the beautiful rubies,
beautiful as the yinns
walk through the halls of Bethlehem, alley of whores,
always remembering to bring flowers to Magdalena,
because Mammon aspires to eat it,
bifid tongue on your thighs;
perennial hips of myrrh and wine,
horns of plenty have sheltered it;
elephants and camels loaded travelers, long lines of gold traders
things that involving weapons and money are full of blood.
One day will survive flies; and with them the nightmares,
but what gnawing the flies nothing just but the dust or the bones?
the same cassette of endless delirium and sadness, is repeated over and over again,
pregnant daughters of larvae will copulate in your flesh, as necrophilia lover which is;
all pregnant of the same color.
Dead steppe, mothers elephants,
feet of clay and memories with smell of strange roses,
sunk in the mud flies.
When you go down from the hill with your donkey loaded with firewood, in the cold night,
rent for yourself some shelter, add color to your ocher traces
when get flooded those carboniferous fire wings
hovering since you left and you come home
winged giraffes at sunset ...
during the rain fire in the low plain of Palestine;
salt cocoons of Jerusalem
remember to give her flowers to Magdalena,
dressed in linen and silk,
a refuge from bombs, an improvised and beautiful brothel,
remember, gold coins and wild flowers to Magdalena,
and your tongue will vibrate to the pulse of her belly,
to not trade the Kalashnikov,
and you keep playing in war your old drum rom pom pom pom,
with sad eyes christmas shepherd;
in that your hard loneliness, food by demon nations. Resist.
Photo at Palestine Pictures™