To come without fear

Or anticipation or dread

To be light without weight

To come silently

In its usual color

With its expected pallor

And its ancient coldness.

We don’t want a loud death

Scattered with body parts.

Oh death, please grant us

An ordinary death!

---

THE FUGITIVE MOON

The night pirates attacked the city,

stole its stars, packed them into caravans of ruins

while the world was sleeping,

sleeping with full eyelids

and left the city sinking into darkness, bleeding, terrified.

Only the moon stayed awake,

gathering the city kids

who could not sleep

to tell them the story of the fugitive star.

Perhaps it would distract them from their terror and the noise.

The noise hit the heads

And rose to the sky,

thundered inside the head of the moon.

The moon closed its ears.

The noise penetrated his brain,

fluttering with its convolutions.

It expelled its cells and resided in their place.

Small eyes filled with despair.

The darkness frightened them,

waiting for the story to sleep

to escape death

as the noise around them escalated.

Only the moon could hear it,

a huge roar.

The moon screamed.

He wanted to complete the story.

Children must sleep

but he couldn’t stand the noise.

The moon decided to flee.

He escaped within the edges of the story.

He held the collar of the fleeing star

and they disappeared together.

The darkness remained,

wandering around the city,

and the noise continued

while terrified spirits wandered

in the waiting space.

---

SONGS OF LIFE

Here, there or everywhere,

you find those going to death,

by land by sea, or air,

bombing, burning, or suffocating.

There is no salvation but return,

to ask the grandparents chanting

songs of farewell to burn for.

Then we can freely break out

a song of eternity

on the hill of slaughter,

until the ones who were killed say loudly:

Here we returned, and this is the beginning of infinity.