Oaxaca, my Oaxaca.

I stood there at the top of the hill
Like a statue, voiceless
My sounds chained to the pillars of my throat
My tears frozen by the pictures painted in my eyes
Looking at the bleeding and infuriated soul of my land
I felt like screaming until ripping my lips
I felt like crying until draining my brains
I felt like running like a wild beast
Fading with the wind and fly
with wings of smiles taking me closer god’s sanctuary
I tried, but I fell to the floor like a sad memory
flowing like water through the streets of uneasiness
paths of dreams, past, memory and culture.
Oaxaca, my Oaxaca
So much anger wildly running the streets of my dreams
So much suffering walking naked the paths of my memory
So much loneliness abandoning the harmony of our hands
There I loved a woman, like god loves humans
There I won the war against hunger
There I lost the first battle of hopes dreams
Now, I’m happy because I’m nothing, just me again
Not ready for a war.