Zapatista Blues

I write poems
on walls
that crumble
and fall
-Luis Omar Salinas.

Deport this
Poet
To the land
Of
Atzlan;

I was born
Of
Maize
And
I’ll die
Of
The sun.

As I march
Thru
The campos
And
Return to
My land:

I will drink
Purple rain
And
I’ll feast
On the wind.

There
Is a border
Inside
My
Autumnal
Mind:

I remember
The future
And
I see
What has
Died.

When
The river
Is barren
And
The moon
But a
Dream:

I will
Honor
My parents
On the
Day of
The dead.

I will
Crawl to
The temple
Like a
Snail
On my
Knees;

I will
Take them
Nopales
From
The land
That they
Fled.

As I write
These words
Down,
I gaze
Up at
The sky:

I recall
That
Pale night
That
Zapata
Was sold;

They say
Mexico
Died,
But it
Lives in
My soul.