miércoles, 6 de abril de 2011


In the moonlight

in the iron-fenced courtyard

six men stand

like scattered statues:

the moon bathes them blue

in funereal mists.

Silently they face each direction

as if alone.

Six steles waiting,

each a watchful epitaph


Perhaps the police will come:

these monuments slide

soundless into shadows.

Perhaps I will come,

dragging the anchor of my pain:

then one of the statues

will move,

his dead eyes approaching me

at the edge of my prison’s bars.

Only in that yard

is my freedom found.

Here, just beyond,


in rose-tipped agony,

damp bills clutched

in trembling claw.

Between the bars I thrust it now.

"Que quieres?"

"Una pieza de chiva – veinte."

Un veloz cambio

y las sombras indigas

me consumen.

~ for John Bocanegra

© 2011 Hakim - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: use without profit allowed only with author’s express written permission. Please don't wake up my attorney. Please.

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