THE TWILIGHT OF SPECTATORS
When I lift my eyes, the sky offers no stars,
only missiles parading with arrogance.
Before me, mountains of corpses rise,
my pupils dilated by human savagery.
Humanity has been consuming itself for millennia,
and I bear the guilt of all those cowards
who watch peoples fade away
behind screens, instructing the purveyors of war.
I arrived in this macabre dimension
like so many innocents cut down by bombs.
The Earth groans under the assaults of unbalanced men,
who plunder its entrails,
who sow hatred, death, and chaos
since time immemorial.
The oceans vomit waves of cadavers,
the hurricanes carry the scent of desolation and fear.
Nations crumble beneath the laughter of tyrants,
and children, bare-handed, learn to count
the bodies falling into the mud of oblivion.
I walk amidst these ruins,
listening to the groaning of stones,
a powerless witness to the unchained pride of men.
Crushed hearts weep for their torn roots,
death swallows secrets that no one tells,
and the sky has become nothing but a theater of fire and iron.
In this open-air junkyard,
the sparks of love persist, stubbornly burning,
like a breath even death cannot smother.
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