As we leave Cuba

Against the cold, we crawl
like toddlers.
it is below zero
and we freeze slowly
in our galaxies
as we grow more brazilian
month after month
so scared, so tired of scratching
our elbows on invisible desks
and thorns.

august will cheat on us
with the cheapest prostitute.
but we will throw stones, shout, cry.
our fists bleeding again,
our paper hearts expressing
the silence of life.
we - the broken idols,
the the tongue-tied saints.


alexandra is pregnant.
there is an oceanic feeling
in her eyes.
who will ever know we existed
behind those walls?
our smiling masked faces,
our semi weird doubts,
fears and precious attempts
to save loveless brains?
who will accuse us
of being who we are?
we - the broken idols,
the tongue-tied saints.

we - the walking past.


i would't be ashamed
of lowering myself
to contemplate
the new seeds in the garden
before we leave for good.
Cuba is here.
Cuba will always be here.

karla bardanza

Copyright©Karla Bardanza 2015 Photobucket

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