The Jail of Pinochet
Streets resound to Pinochet's demise
The murderous Dictator lies
Interred with all the multitudes
Of innocent young lives in bloom
The stories of Allende rise
To dance beside his muddy grave
The spirits of Neruda, Jara
Raise their voice in song again
He might have been a kindly father
And kept his torture memoranda
Hidden from his children's eyes
Behind his mask, his deadly shroud
I wonder who those children are.
Five hearts and all the shadowed souls
A ghost cries for exoneration
The morning sun guarding his jail.
poem by Frank Bana
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
No comments until now.