Running From Desert Of Snakes
© Surazeus
2018 05 26
When the world around us crumbles to lies
we wake from dream of illusions to see
real world of buildings and people in sunlight
because the dome of the world view we shared
shatters from strain of twisting contradictions
when dictators and their minions attempt
to impose false world view that does not match
reality we sense and measure with words.
I stand on the lawn of my home and stare
at silent blue sky where white clouds swirl slowly
to scatter sparkles of hope in my hair.
I wonder why we are alive at all
and why anything exists in vast space,
then savor the surge of blood in my veins
that feeds the spark of neurons in my brain
which conjures virtual model of the world
assembled from every tale I have seen
in one seething mosaic that presents
complex world view which can incorporate
every world view humans have ever dreamed.
I mow the lawn in hot afternoon sun,
wiping sweat from my eyes with old tee-shirt,
then think about the Guatemalan woman
shot dead in the head by the border agent
when she was running from desert of snakes
to cross from Mexico into lush Texas.
Though I love her I will not say her name
for I would have to name ten million more
who flee from war to seek the Promised Land,
so I cannot sing this grim elegy
for her alone while she lies in my arms,
eyes staring blankly at the godless sky
where the rainbow of her soul pierces deep
my heart with love to bring her back to life.
O beautiful for spacious skies, they sing,
marching with guns to attack desert lands
so bankers can control the fields of oil
that fuel machine of our global empire
connected by computers that blink numbers
to calculate functions of productive action
Since we arrived four hundred years ago
we swarmed across this land of fertile plains
from sea to shining sea, paving highways
from asphalt mixed with tar that swallowed dragons
and now fuels engines of cars and airplanes
that swirl around the Earth like honey bees.
Now I will say her name with aching love
for she is the spirit of Mictlan,
the world that teems under America,
Claudia Patricia Gomez Gonzalez,
though in her face I see the ancient soul
of Ix Chel, Goddess of Fertility,
who sparks rain to drench my home in her tears.
In bright jungle of Cozumel I listen
to Ix Chel proclaim oracle of truth
while jet planes soar across the boundless sky
and tanks rumble into deserts and jungles
so the Emperor of Money extracts
minerals from the heart of the weeping world.
On top the giant pyramid of skulls,
shrouded in the vines of computer wires,
I find Ix Chebel Yax weaving from light
the fabric of our bodies to contain
eternal pulse of sunlight in our brains.
She takes my hand and leads me to the pool
of ten billion souls where all our eyes glow
with star light beaming from the Whirling Whole
then molds new mask of life for me to wear
after breaking the mask that silenced me.
Now I sing the magic of her true name
for though she was shot by bullet of greed
she lives forever in our memories
teaching us to play new more equal game.
This land is my land, this land is your land,
from Guatemala to the hills of Georgia,
but this land was made for me, not for you,
so if you try to cross the border wall,
enclosing paradise for me alone,
I will shoot you behind the Tree of Life.
Who will weep for you while I eat my slice
of the American Pie, clever Claudia?
Who will work in orchard of apple trees
I planted on the graves of your ancestors
when my great-grandfather shot them all dead
and planted seeds in their still-beating hearts,
except for you, so if you can evade
Jesus-worshipping patriots with guns
I will hire you for ten cents an hour
to pick ripe apples from the Tree of Life
which I bake in the American Pie.
No Angel of the Lord came down from Heaven
on rainbow wings of Ix Chel to protect
Claudia Patricia Gomez Gonzalez
forever running from desert of snakes,
though I say her name to keep her alive
so her ten thousand sisters with star eyes
will arrive safely in the Promised Land.
I stand on the lawn of my home and stare
at silent blue sky where white clouds swirl slowly
to scatter sparkles of hope in my hair.
© Surazeus
2018 05 26
When the world around us crumbles to lies
we wake from dream of illusions to see
real world of buildings and people in sunlight
because the dome of the world view we shared
shatters from strain of twisting contradictions
when dictators and their minions attempt
to impose false world view that does not match
reality we sense and measure with words.
I stand on the lawn of my home and stare
at silent blue sky where white clouds swirl slowly
to scatter sparkles of hope in my hair.
I wonder why we are alive at all
and why anything exists in vast space,
then savor the surge of blood in my veins
that feeds the spark of neurons in my brain
which conjures virtual model of the world
assembled from every tale I have seen
in one seething mosaic that presents
complex world view which can incorporate
every world view humans have ever dreamed.
I mow the lawn in hot afternoon sun,
wiping sweat from my eyes with old tee-shirt,
then think about the Guatemalan woman
shot dead in the head by the border agent
when she was running from desert of snakes
to cross from Mexico into lush Texas.
Though I love her I will not say her name
for I would have to name ten million more
who flee from war to seek the Promised Land,
so I cannot sing this grim elegy
for her alone while she lies in my arms,
eyes staring blankly at the godless sky
where the rainbow of her soul pierces deep
my heart with love to bring her back to life.
O beautiful for spacious skies, they sing,
marching with guns to attack desert lands
so bankers can control the fields of oil
that fuel machine of our global empire
connected by computers that blink numbers
to calculate functions of productive action
Since we arrived four hundred years ago
we swarmed across this land of fertile plains
from sea to shining sea, paving highways
from asphalt mixed with tar that swallowed dragons
and now fuels engines of cars and airplanes
that swirl around the Earth like honey bees.
Now I will say her name with aching love
for she is the spirit of Mictlan,
the world that teems under America,
Claudia Patricia Gomez Gonzalez,
though in her face I see the ancient soul
of Ix Chel, Goddess of Fertility,
who sparks rain to drench my home in her tears.
In bright jungle of Cozumel I listen
to Ix Chel proclaim oracle of truth
while jet planes soar across the boundless sky
and tanks rumble into deserts and jungles
so the Emperor of Money extracts
minerals from the heart of the weeping world.
On top the giant pyramid of skulls,
shrouded in the vines of computer wires,
I find Ix Chebel Yax weaving from light
the fabric of our bodies to contain
eternal pulse of sunlight in our brains.
She takes my hand and leads me to the pool
of ten billion souls where all our eyes glow
with star light beaming from the Whirling Whole
then molds new mask of life for me to wear
after breaking the mask that silenced me.
Now I sing the magic of her true name
for though she was shot by bullet of greed
she lives forever in our memories
teaching us to play new more equal game.
This land is my land, this land is your land,
from Guatemala to the hills of Georgia,
but this land was made for me, not for you,
so if you try to cross the border wall,
enclosing paradise for me alone,
I will shoot you behind the Tree of Life.
Who will weep for you while I eat my slice
of the American Pie, clever Claudia?
Who will work in orchard of apple trees
I planted on the graves of your ancestors
when my great-grandfather shot them all dead
and planted seeds in their still-beating hearts,
except for you, so if you can evade
Jesus-worshipping patriots with guns
I will hire you for ten cents an hour
to pick ripe apples from the Tree of Life
which I bake in the American Pie.
No Angel of the Lord came down from Heaven
on rainbow wings of Ix Chel to protect
Claudia Patricia Gomez Gonzalez
forever running from desert of snakes,
though I say her name to keep her alive
so her ten thousand sisters with star eyes
will arrive safely in the Promised Land.
I stand on the lawn of my home and stare
at silent blue sky where white clouds swirl slowly
to scatter sparkles of hope in my hair.
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