Over an insult, I learned man will kill.
The man's hurt ego speaks in his thoughts,
Pride will do anything to have its will.
On that day peace ceased in the city street;
A shot rang out to seek tender flesh,
Innocent blood was spilled on the concrete.
An instrument of death not meant for you;
Seventeen years, a sheep among wolves,
Over pride your life was taken from you.
In your memory, everyday we pray,
For the A student walking from school,
Who will not live to see another day.
R.I.P STM
Existence of this ageless tomb
another sense given to invoke.
Resurrected from a socialist womb
with a success left to provoke.
Two firey breasted beasts will greet,
few miles across a frontier.
Cloud capped and complete
a glowing moment of fear.
This was a 'land of the not quite right'
and its claws had a strenghtening grip.
The genius of Dario's write
offers us only a shorten clip.
Isolated by forces within
or controlled by powers from out.
The feel in your heart is akin
to a home, that, I have no doubt.
A step back to where we know
yet two steps forward to what we don't.
Where yawning smiles are a flow
and abundant treasures mount.
Future turmoil continues rife
harden hands tells its story.
It's people adapt to their strife,
returning it to a former glory.
Fire remains in the blood:
the music, the dance akin-
nor presume or nor you should,
the passion that lies within.
(Nicaragua, A Beautiful country)(http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/7898927.stm)
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