If you ever live in this Hell,
Remember how fragile freedom really is
Remember how hopes can make you hurt

If you ever live in this Hell,
You'll see misery in every corner
as well as people running to get to the nearest border

If you ever live in this Hell,
Your  frequent words will be dollars, food, emptiness
Your frequent thought will be "when all of this will see an end?"

If you ever live in this Hell,
Remember that no one will never be safe
So you better start running away

If you ever live in this Hell,
You'll be a ghost in the middle of empty streets
You'll be another cow under the suffocating sun

If you ever live in this Hell,
The struggle of surviving will be skin deep
All you wish is you're living a bad dream while you sleep

If you ever live in a Hell,
You'll see how fragile freedom actually is
and that's when you'll appreciate any piece of it

The world watches you fall,
the largest proven oil reserves
but you couldn’t call out to your brothers
acknowledge your mistake
so that you may grow.

You **** children,
hunger grips every mother
and fathers struggle with
children of eight trying to earn a wage.

Your country is ****** up
holding it pride to its chest
waving the flag never admitting that
their force has killed eight thousand
or that their children are in hospitals
starving.

Kenyerber Aquino Merchán,
less than two starved to death
because hospitals have no formula
to feed the innocent.

Spine and rib cage protruding,
mourners with wildflowers from the hills,
and relatives cut out a pair
of cardboard wings from
empty white ration boxes.

Let you pass away,
sleeping now under my wings,
we’ll conger the wind
and ease the president's pride,
he is hiding under the cover
cowering the corner -
he has no one else to blame.

Irrita la garganta y daña el hígado,
que bastante ya se ha visto machacado
por años de prácticas funestas.

El más ****** líquido,
encuentra camino en mi esófago,
repleto de falsas esperanzas,
va camino abajo y patea mis entrañas
encargándose de dejar escapar la cordura.

Menos por menos es más,
y aquello que te vuelva inestable
en una casa sin columnas ni vigas,
seguro te hará sentir a salvo.

Fuerte aroma y tacto cuestionable,
aunque lo conozcas desde siempre,
todas las veces se siente
como el primer beso
pero con mordida.

Como champaña descorchada,
hace florecer cualquier pensamiento,
entre palabras que escapan a duras penas
de la lengua envenenada y adormecida.

El que lo niegue no lo ha probado,
y si lo probó y lo negó,
tiene ante usted a un ángel limpio y puro,
puesto que ésta es la poción de los pisoteados.

Carrot arepas on the table,
Busy hands in the kitchen,
Little feet run amok across the house,
And my mouth is full.

They are delicious,
She is the ideal wife,
They are curious,
And are a part of me.

Venezuela gave me their food,
Also her,
Between us both we received them,
And God is the gift giver!

I am bound to her by blood,
this madwoman of a city
with eyes that see
a comatose heart, with no feeling.

One, two, three hundred,
a thousand —
we are all carbon copies
of her silicone *******, collagen cheeks
teeth bleached whiter
than the pearls we adorn ourselves with.

I was a child
when I left this madwoman,
mother of my younger years.
I left her drinking cuba libres,
stirring ice with her finger,
her nails crimson red.

I said, “Goodbye, I am leaving you.”
She turned her face back to the barrio
and said, “Adios, Muchacha.”

Years later, I look back on my youth.
I remember her as the mother I lost
the sister I never had
the woman I was afraid to become.

If only she knew
how easy she was to leave
how difficult she was to forget.