Читать книгу Other Seasons - Harold J. Recinos - Страница 8

by the rivers along the border, we

sat and wept with memories of the

villages that taught us to believe

in happiness. there under the cashew

trees, we frolicked in the evening glow

with music played on strings the soldiers

one day would toss in an impetuous stream

they watched turn red with our blood. how

can we sing on the other side of this river

in the North? where is our highest joy,

the holy ground, the Lord that will repay

them for our weaknesses and deaths? when

will our stammering tongues sing again to

send away those who stomp us to the ground

in this foreign place? what peace will come to

us, now? what justice will overtake the owners

of this world and their fallen souls? who will

remember us like cherished flowers to be held?

cursing the violence of war, on this river bank,

vengeance is not our dream, life is the truest

thing we bid to put an end to the threats hanging

above our heads and dropping us without tears

into fresh foreign earth.