Last Day Of Unschool

Last Day Of Unschool
© Surazeus
2018 08 07

When that August with his hot bitter winds
plush blooms of April has pierced to the root
and shriveled every vein in thirsty horror
will lost souls migrate across Mexico
to find water on the last day of unschool.

August is the cruelest month of bleak wind
that howls across the waste land of desire
where mothers who escape from jungle wars
lead little children to the Promised Land
to seek for truth on the last day of unschool.

When Zephyrs howl in hot polluted wind
with bitter breath across the sun-baked sand
will people pricked by fear of murderous gangs
from every war-torn vale to Texas go
to find freedom on the last day of unschool.

Then sons of men who owned black men as slaves
along the desolate border of bleak hope
will drive fat-tired jeeps over swirling dunes
to capture migrants escaping drug wars
who seek heaven on the last day of unschool.

When mothers holding children to their breasts
see men with guns and flashlights in the dark
they pray for salvation from wild drug wars
but weep when children are torn from their arms
who cry for ma on the last day of unschool.

Young children taken from care of their parents,
herded in bare cages of prison camps,
call names of their mothers on lonely nights
while bankers get rich adopting them out,
selling their souls on the last day of unschool.

You still detained mother of quietness,
waiting many moons for your lost offspring,
will you sign, hoping to see your child soon,
when they deport you back to Mexico,
where you weep shocked on the last day of unschool?

Quaint little town in Nicaragua hills,
what happy children once played in your streets
till mothers fled with you from shooting gangsters,
now locked nameless in Texas prison camps,
who long to play on the last day of unschool.