A Poem Colored Red

The sober winds of a rather warm November

Blew steadily towards the East. From the seas

They traveled, and the people they subdued

Under their severe show of power, they also

Took a brief moment to share a poignant story:

'From the fields of a nation where red flags flew

With sparks of gold radiating from its corners

In passion and unwavering ecstasy, we speak of

Puerile minds who were offended of being

Abused by destiny which kept them hungry

Each morning, while we (the winds) ate their

Fragile (yet tasty) homes and drank their sweat.

Is it offending to be favored by birth? Anarchism

Proliferated among them, their withheld bodies

Ached for freedom and the legend of a man, who

Cut though winds in his motorcycle, gave them aid!

To be stupid and to be outraged is a mortal sin,

And it must be said with sadness, they paid!

How do you define a common man? What is it

That makes a man uncommon? Is it the luxury

That keeps him lie down in comfort, or is it his

Machiavellian tastes to be wealthier that inflames

Men like you? Whatever be it, all it took was an

Uncontrolled show of disgust which turned

Common men into exalted martyrs, and many

Granted us the blame for blowing their lives away.

We must say (in disgust) that the bearded saint

Is the one who deserves the blame, he rode

Them along in his travels through socialism,

And dropped them abruptly in burning fields

Of hysterical idealism, which was fed upon

By his fervent addition of a long lost hope.

So, my friend before we bid you adieu, we

Can show you the fate of bearing the potent

Ideals that they carried, for you to know.'

And then through their vivid gust, I saw a painting

Made by my concealed mind, in reverence.

The martyrs slept painfully in their red painted

Coffins, their hands were locked by the weight of

The Earth, their mind clogged by the blocked flow

Of blood, yet their spirits flew like the saint on the bike,

Out of their lifeless bodies, I heard his reverberations,

'Kill me coward, you are only killing a man!'

Notes

Inspired by 'The Motorcycle Diaries' and what I see everyday in my immediate surroundings. I dedicate this poem in reverence to the idealistic views of Ernesto Che Guevara who still lives and inflames the hearts of the oppressed with revolution and hope.