Two men came in the morning cold
Leaving the unmarked car downstairs;
Whitemen, callous and still bold
Knocking at the door. Sun dried our tears
Since. This wind plucked a fruit before.
Manuel was only a farm worker,
His wife nurse children across the shore.
His child here, will not die of hunger,
We swear. Such a shame though. They should
At least inform us where they took them.
History stalks again under the hood.
Maria has lit a candle for all of them,
The yellow flame - so impotent falls
A shadow on the limp, bleak walls.
\So in each darkness we huddle and wait
For the men with power over our fate.