Death Ash
(A poem to Guatemala victims of the volcano)
I can not forget her watery eyes
When a Guatemalan woman was
About to cry feeling miserable
Like the melting fire on the edge
Of volcano on a Sunday morning
Lower middle class
families
Faced death ash and not
his
Funeral as if Sunday
prayers
Were not presented to
God
therefore, the devil
won again
Uncooked food untouched
Was on the broken table
No joys nor beauty but the
Fragrance of dead souls
Of young to old ages
Toys were abandoned
No more kids' laughters
Blue skies were odd
As if the sun burst
The clouds into flames
The birds call names, the
Rivers seek barefoots, the
seeds ask the dry leaves
For a few drops of water
From the cut branches
A few survived the volcano
They felt as they were in a
Different village and not their
Own and cried for finding only
Ashes and not recognizing them
Fuego Volcano -- neritron
