(Poem)
i will pluck just a few red flowers
in the desolate garden of my dreams
tenderly, so tenderly,
i will kiss every flower
beneath the glaring high noon sun
and when the dusk caresses
and the cloud smacks
the aghast moon’s face
carefully, so carefully,
i will insert the petals of red flowers
between the pages of a sobbing book
i am the offspring of my history.
just a few red flowers
just a few i need
for my blood to swim in my veins
just a few red flowers
for my heart to beat incessantly
for my mind to be aflame
and let the wind’s wings
carry the rebellious sentiments
of a race being oppressed
while hissing are the bullets
in the bosom of tears and grief.
yes, just a few red flowers
i will pluck and kiss
in the desolate garden of my dreams
for me not to forget
am the offspring of my history!