All poems and recording excerpts remain the right of the original copyright holder, and no infringment is here intended

Friday, August 5, 2011


How can we speak of a human being transparent? How can we refer to someone who has no face? The indifference masquerading as social concern is a wound that hurts deeply to all societies.

There are still human beings forgotten justices, dignity, the most basic rights; however, they dictate speeches to talk about them without even looking at them in the eye.

As a poet, as an act of justice, I lift my voice and cry for the dignity torn and full of miasmas that have forgotten the man of salt.


Yet still exist!
Written about you, you have no name;
Your body is exhibited as an emblem lanky
a labeled destination beforehand.
Then you lie in your grave salt
as inanimate morning thistle
will be the centerpiece of lean oil
pride at the entrance of a gallery.

Yet still exist!
Your voice, if you had not listen anyone.
You have become reminiscent of an echo that is extinguished;
there´s no choir to collect your tragedies and your hunger,
your days of drought or carved into the lean face where you live.
You're like flake glitter converted to stroke;
You just have your stoic posture,
quiet, serene, challenging you to admire.

Yet still exist!
To no avail your wounds festering.
To no avail your bloody feet,
your bloodless veins in his arms lacerated dead.
What served the thousands of poems
who pretended to know your eternal truth?
The cretins who wept for you, their eyes
glowing, admiring a poet.

Debrah Riddleton