Maria Corina and the Nobel Peace
They crowned you with peace, María Corina,
but peace that drips with the poison of politics.
They massaged your ego —
not to free Venezuela,
but to enslave it gently,
in golden chains of Western praise.
They call it democracy,
but their ballots bleed oil and hunger.
They clap for freedom,
while selling weapons under the table.
They said — you fight dictatorship.
But what if your fight feeds another master?
What if their freedom is a leash
woven from your country’s pain?
Democracy is not the only path to dawn —
China walks another road,
and its cities rise from dust to steel.
A good dictator is no sin,
if he dictates bread, not bullets.
Venezuela is not a colony,
not a chessboard for foreign kings.
Let it dream its own destiny,
even if the dream burns slow.
María Corina, beware their gifts —
for every medal hides a motive.
Obama too was crowned too soon,
and history tore the mask from his peace.
The West grows old and stubborn,
its empire sinking beneath its lies.
The world no longer bows to its mirror —
its reflection breaks with every war.
When the curtain falls,
Europe will weep in its own ashes,
and the world will whisper —
"You fooled us once,
but never again."
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