THE REAPED OF CHAOS
A nightmare without terror,
A peaceful life without savor.
Voluble blasphemies
In the flames of a hell
Perfumed with the stench of lust.
A heart loaded with lugubrious memories,
My soul bellows in the darkness.
Running to die, for barren pleasures,
Insatiable are the sickles of the reaper.
Allergic to flashing lights, even with a spotless record,
I wander in the obscurity of their hatred.
Thirsty for bills of every color,
I sometimes gaze at my scars
So as never to lower my guard,
Always on alert like a fugitive terrorist.
A few victims etched on the clocks of my conscience,
I have lost liters of hemoglobin, scraps of flesh,
Worshipper of spontaneous shots of adrenaline.
I know the story of my genetic code,
I will never be ashamed of coming from a third-world country.
I have rummaged through the trash of my memory
Before scourging the arrogance of my oppressors.
Lamentation has never been scribbled
In the script of my existence.
Clairvoyant, I behold the world
With the eyes of the bearer of celestial lights.
Nothing but interests in my directory,
I have no time to scrutinize
The complexities of human nature.
I glean my elation
From the fears of my enemies.
I carry the stature of those slaves
Drugged by the peace pipe of liberty.
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