This is a beautiful world

When i came home yesterday,
i didn't leave behind the teargas.
neither the percussion grenades:
they were running in my blood,
exploding my day in anger.
(beat me, beat us)

This is a beautiful world:
people run, rubber bullets pierce the night,
eyes see what they have already seen before
as I weep with my hands covering my face,
hiding myself behind a tree, feeling humiliated.
How many were clubbed by the police?

Maybe i am ashamed of my country, 
maybe i am that little girl afraid of the future,
biting my nails, listening to the sirens.
(beat me, beat us)

And poetry couldn't be so far from me
because right now I know not another word
apart from indignation. 

Karla Bardanza

Copyright©Karla Bardanza 2013 Photobucket

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