Memories in the Plaza

I (Death in the plaza)
Your rejection is reflected on my wounds.
Cold, sadistic and razor sharp.
Your back preaches hate to me.
My heart is baptized with your spit.
My crime to you is being human.
You condemn me for not being cruel.
I am of your blood.
Yet mine is not frozen.
I am of your pack.
But Im not an animal.
Your rejection is reflected on my wounds.
My blood, the love you despise.

II (The one who remembers)
The pavement swallows up blood.
History swallows the truth.
The plaza is full of ghosts with resentments,
They nag of the children;
Children born during the war,
Who in peace have gone blind and
With hunger they have become deaf.
They have become desperate animals who
Every three years they wait with hope
Every three years they are fooled.
Today there isnt any sorrow, only resentments.
There are no scars; the wound is still open,
It still bleeds.

III (The ghost in the plaza)
I bled in the street.
My cry was silenced here,
Silenced with bullets from an M-16.
Over the pavement I spat my love away.
My tears were mixed with the vision of black boots.
I dragged myself and I could see flowers and stones.
I breathed slowly,
And the pavement and I became one.
I never left this place.
Ive always been here.
Ive always been resentful.
Ive always been the pavement.

IV (Remembering at night)
Deceit, every day is more abundant.
The same goes for those who die fools.
To protest today, its a luxury.
To be poor, its to have shame.
Going to the plaza at night,
Smoking a cigarette and listening to screams of the past.
Going to where blood ran like a river, and
Crying in the darkness,
Is to commit a crime.
Today the crime still is, being human.