Al Qabri Ramos

 

Strychnine

What is this rage that is born and grows, 

that never stops or convalesces, 

that determines such ugly acts, 

that harasses people with supports, 

that marginalizes the truth as if it were 

Mere object of raffles

of your somersaults 

that carry impurities and cockles, 

which to me, among you, 

Not about time or space

will fall to the groundin 

the face of the most noble ideals!

May peace welcome you and flood you, 

that the karmas you produce are, 

in the end,  your rifles, my friends!

May I never add to youmore 

than the truth from which you flee,

Baleful jackals, mourners, nothing more!