November Senryū
wars so far from home | their casualties wear death masks | the truth buried deep
in fine white mist | fog creeped up the hillsides | cold, a thin blanket
words bite and strangle | a tangle of tongues turned | knots hard to untie
there is nothing black | about today, if you just stay | away from the lies
food cooked with big love | those aromas that remind | tastes that can't compare
fusion |
color and sound |
rounding out atmosphere |
so dear to me the taste of new |
music
shadows gather | for winter's blanket covers | in gray rainy days
we give thanks all days | for our people's survival | that we are still here
this dream called life | no way to awaken from | a sometime nightmare
sometimes haunted | those precious given moments | indelible past
invisible ties | that bind us all together | across this planet
yearning the long road | a return home to no place | she dreams the river
a golden angel | greets the masses moving | along the boulevard
midnight mariachis | meet us upon arrival | D.F. never sleeps
bella Oaxaca | flor de las naciones | casa de todos
desire | such a weak word to describe | a famished mouth
child's shadow follows | it's sleep walking body | thinking it's awake
Oaxaca's foothills | this rich red earth's sentinels | surround the morning
poems ©Odilia Galván Rodríguez, 2011
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