Then :

Stigmas shredding this rough frame
Strips of blood
boiling, wanting to explode
I feel their anger
I hear their shrieks, their war cries
I don't listen.
These monsters and me
are at war.
                                                            ­                                                  Now :
                                                               ­    Soft pink caressing this canvas
                                                          ­                                          Calm rivers
                                                                ­             nurturing, bring it to life
                                                            ­                                I feel their peace
                                                           ­  I hear their hummings, their odes
                                                            ­                               I sing with them 
                                                           ­                 my stretch marks and me
                                                                ­                                           are one.

It's everywhere I go :
What once leached over a dark corner
mutilated,
grew faster and stronger
A different shape everytime
yet the same core
Countless,
rot.
Like a radar
shivers climb my spine
as It gets closer
and closer
to Its prey
The strangulating reek
thicker
and thicker.
As I float farther away
from the distorted
distant sounds of the crowds
and dive into utter blackness  
I can almost taste the decay  
from Its crumbling mask
My body quietly shivers
It gowls
The beast is awaken
Starving
his loathsome breath cutting my left cheek
I feel It growing
ready to attack.
The bus halts
I shut my eyes,
resisting the sudden ray of light
that brought me back to life
freeing me from Its clasp
It crawls back to darkness
waiting for Its next victim
at the next stop.

Visit after visit
the view never changes
The distant sound of angry waves
far behind the old wall,
still standing
The birds chirping
hiding in the old tree,
still rising
You
lay in its shadow
showering in the smell of Primrose
covered in a sheet of blue Tulips
I caress the cold grass at your feet
giving up to the old habit
I send a little prayer
for you
then I dive into the sea
this sea of innovation,
of modernity,
of madness.
No looking back
I know you'll be here, unwavering
in the graveyard

Oh Esperanza
how I'd like to be you
Walk the path ahead of me
Fiery
Fierce
Fearless of what's to come.
But oh Esperanza
I am not you
I find myself fearful
of a path,
I have yet to take
of a choice,
I have yet to make
of a loss,
I have yet to own.
Oh tell me, Esperanza
where do you find
the courage,
the strength,
the heart to leap forward
spread your wide wings
and fly into the unknown
While I drown slowly
My chains of fears
dragging me down
into darkness I created
You, my only Esperanza
fade away from my sight
little
by
little.
Oh my Esperanza
What do I do?

We keep begging and begging
It's our fault
We know,
we took you for granted
But you always fool us
don't you?
The truth is
you were never ours to keep
A giver,
you come
to show us the fools we are
and go
back to how it was before you.
It's our fault
Oh we know
But you're the key to everything
That's why we'll never have you
                               -Peace

When time outruns the last of your brothers, and the heart of a golden generation turns into stone. Your strained bones long to rest among your loved ones, but you're unable to answer their call.
There's worry lingering in your thoughts and straining your soul. You fear for stories too precious to leave behind, vulnerable to the ruthless fires of oblivion.
So you keep clinging tiredly to an uncertain future. Desperately, you wonder for a shelter, a sanctum to all the lessons that must endure.

Let go of these fears grandmother. Your history will live on.

Through emblems, talismans and charms carved in the blood of our nation, your beliefs will be embedded in the symbols of our ancestors. Your teachings will clear the path for understanding, and our bodies will carry on the knowledge you left us.
Through legends, tales and chants all forged from truth, your morals will resonate among frozen hearts. Your hopes will breathe life into our dying spirits, and the wisdom of our ancestry will guide our nation for eternities.

Go in peace grandmother. Your wishes will live on.

As your never-fading love warms us, harmony and peace will unite us again, and we will reach together to the glory you once saught.
As your never-dying spirit inspires us, bravery and confidence will guide our conquests, and our triumphs await in the lands you dreamt of exploring.
And as the blessings of your ancestors protect us, we'll pass on the knowledge to our children, and enlighten the path you've once shown us.

So rest assured grandmother. Our culture will live on.

Every time I hold the pen, I am drowned in this feeling.

My head is overwhelmed by a storm of words, lacking all meaning, all sense.

I try to write down any idea, but this senseless logic spinning inside is beyond my understanding.  

As if this brain was not my own, I feel lost.

I'm tired of straying aimlessly in my thoughts, so I abandon all to this overflowing emotion.

My hand is numb, my eyes blurred in this confusion, and my head slowly drained of all reason.

As if this body was not my own, I feel lost.

When the storm finally passes, I drop the pen carved in my hand.

My brain is worn out, empty. All I can see is a crumbled, blank, page eating me alive.

I am no longer my own.

I am lost.