LAST NIGHT II

The skull of the lazy
is not worth the hair of the brave
so I come

I come to you with the voice
that sets the sea ablaze
that floods the desert
that melts the mountains
in the breaking of the virginity of words

last night i saw the foot-marks of the panther
i crawled on my heart.
but my tongue stood like
the giant of the moon tales

it is the chick
that keeps scratching the ground 
that discovers the skull of its grandmother

so when you see again
Those prophets
massaging the brain of our consciences
taking the storms from our voices
chanting the dirges of our birth
splashing the egg of shadows
over our minds
Look at them in the eye
and punch the nail of truth
into their hearts.

we walk through darkness
to arrive at light
but under the sound of fire
we feel cold, shivering
Forever shivering in our emaciated souls
Asking, forever asking
When shall our freedom be born
When shall our freedom be born
When shall our freedom be born?

But here comes a season
when we shall no more hide hernia
from the water-closet.