The Star's Blood

      Silence -- (Aragón, 2015)

-------------------------- to Muhammad Al-Qiq



the stars have broken

and silenced the sunsets,

the mornings;

they drowned

in the blood

that whisper

the soldiers

when they force us

to eat their excrements:

to be a human behind bars

is to refuse;

Hunger is and has been


a much nobler


behind rotten bars,

pulling at the gates

that were thrust upon her

for being free,

for speaking out.

Her seeds we’ll all plant

in our desecrated


used to feed the bullets

and the fires;


to be a human

behind bars

is to rearrange

the broken pieces

into a crystal knife

we use to mutilate

the lying part

sowed in our tongues;


to be a human

behind bars

is to not drink

the star’s blood

even if only to nourish

our veins

and tears with which

we feed

our orphaned children

no wheat

or water;


is to not drink

their lawyer’s tea

taken from the old man

down the road

left to die of thirst

and refused for drying

by the sun;


they’ll wear

your mouth

to plant lies

in our land

and, even when you’re gone,

when the mould and metal bed

finally cover your eyes,

the bees and butterflies

will refuse

to pollinate

the corrupt trees,

yet our own plants

will grow,

not high not tall

but honestly,

like our children’s



this bitter land

this century

that is ours

we will keep in a box

they won’t take from us:

that, at least, you taught us;


the little box

where all the pieces

of the silenced sunsets

were saved;

we’ll reconstruct them

with your memory;

the bees will pollinate our trees

and high

and tall

they won’t take them away

with your voice;


and freedom’s eyes

will be our eyes

to see

through violence

through fear,


and she will be our mother,

our tongue

and land;


yet rest assured:

their excrements will dry

and forget will drag their bodies,

their imprisoned rotten memories,

and one day a bird

with the perfume of the horses’ backs

will fight for their forgiveness,

and the severe council of the bees

will let their women’s flowers bloom again

speaking a tongue of love

that will breathe the life

of stars and skies.


Right here. Right now.


by Angel Aragón