Guernica

skin ashen like newspaper clippings
these toes will not stop breaking when I walk
it has been years since my shoes were burned alive
along with my books and brothers

the sun of God
did his eyes find us here?
is the horizon too big for him to climb or
did we dream up this hell on our own?

All the sparrows have lost their voices
and the lights of the village
have been extinguished by the moans
of motherless sons and son-less mothers

our screams tear at the sky
sounding like nails on slate
or the terror of an inconsolable mare
who has lost all sense of place

the sound of our tears like bones dropped in empty graves
it is our symphony of Morse code
but our message is not SOS
our message would say;

Come help us set our history back into our mouths
Remind us of what tales uncensored tongues may tell

Hold the candle above our heads as we crawl
so that our bodies will not break on the boulders of false hope.

And if you are not coming, dont tell us. Let your hand fall
unnoticed. For all we have is that whisper of rescue and survival.