I have no time for crying
the falling of shooting stars.
The sky is full of shadows
and foxfires rushing down
for the chance of time.
Don't you see the blood staining
the ground under our feet?
Don't you see the eyes and mouths
torned apart
in a deadly silence
and in a bastard complicity?
Others fell before,
chopped up by the butcher's hand,
without a single wake of light to draw
the eyes at their last sigh
of agony and pain.
Why then so much moaning
looking up a sky riddled
of glittering stars
falling down by gravity law?
Open the pits where the horror
of disjointed bones are howling,
covered by the tyrant's apathy
and the heinous injustice.
Listen to the moan of those who don't know,
who don't understand,
who are still waiting the sword
of the rightful verdict be brought to bear
and unveil the mystery
of empty laps
and grief-stricken forever.
And of such tears being shed
because of the fallen star,
while, into the shadow,
the horror remains handcuffed,
buried by the excruciating
oblivion and the ignominy.
