Laura de Jesus

 

Migrants

They look at their eyes, 

their clothes, their frailty, 

they use profanity 

to name them,

unfriendly to justify themselves 

by the hatred and contempt 

that nourishes them,

by the guilt and frivolity 

in the easy judgment, 

in their delusional heads, 

the shame

Of their thoughts 

it is anchored in the ugliness 

of an irrational reason, 

and venom makes them territorial, 

defend themselves from vulnerability,

that they perceive as threats 

to their existence, 

they jeopardize 

their punctual platitudes

Man is man's enemy,

it is instinctive and primitive

In the twenty-first century, 

it's an animal!

From the beginning of time,

We are itinerant and looking for 

a place in the world,

And nothing is ours, only stupidity!

Migrants are not another race,

Not even a quarrel, 

we are unstructured, 

easy targets of wars, 

regimes, of rebellions, 

opportune victims of 

so-called developed societies.

Humans have stripped away 

values and ideals 

and they chose to trample 

on their equals, 

to humiliate their conditions 

of insecurity and deprivation,

delete them and even more,

fight against its existence and

They feign mercy between sneers, 

when they hear that in the Pacific 

or in the Atlantic or in

Any border in the world

died on a raft hundreds,

at the mercy of the wind and, 

serene, after the feigned fuss,

go to the hairdresser, 

to the restaurant, to the rally,

To the esplanade, to the oceanarium, 

to the meeting, as if, 

none of those lives lost

were they themselves, 

in other circumstances, 

the immaculate, 

latent hypocrisy 

in the perfect faces 

of silicone and illusion,

And they believe them 

as if they were people of value, 

living at the dawn of the abyss 

that rhymes with their selfishness, 

who do not know it, but stalk them

believing that cataclysms 

spare them because 

they are too human!

We are all migrants, 

Oh vile brethren,

when scenarios emerge and erupt, 

fired at other civilian coordinates. 

and the migrant in me,

perplexed, glazed and secret, 

Will tear all the veils, exposing 

as long as i can and have a voice,

the mask of mundane aesthetics,

of our hostile societies,

existing and proliferating

of this inhuman race.