The Crying Wolves

It’s almost dawn;
I hear the howling of
the tearful wolves
and all those enraged

How can we bear the pain
and the hatred
floating out of the
bodies of many
around us?

How can we
mourn the mother,
who will mourn all her life
and melts as the
candles on the birth cake
of her own son,
who won’t see the
Autumn of
thirteen eighty nine.

The moon is crying,
and the countless stars.
The voiceless birds still weep
for their loss all long night.

The classroom full of innocent eyes
staring at the emptiness of the board
on the black wall;
waiting for his body to shine
so they can all salute him
and rise up.

What to confess when
they are murdering his
tortured thoughts?
Where to flee when
the war is about to start?
The same bloody war
that goes on for
oh so long.

I heard his last breaths
with the noose
around his neck, with all his glory
resting on the prison soil.
I feel the tears of
all the crying wolves.

I wait and crave
the day
of upheaval;
the day of the monsters
in front of
the mourning moms
and us all.