No one knows where she came from or where she has been
Her heart has been baptized in a world immersed in sin
Walking a destructive path trying to contain indignant pains from within
Removing the stench of humanity that coarsens her delicate skin

She had desires, her flesh rest upon test that left her stressed
Her soul screams in agony from the lassitude of eternal unrest
Lies resembled daggers that simply pierced through her frail chest
And even though she lives; it’s as if she walking in the valley of death

Ask citizens all over the world
to invite immigrants of a different race
(and/or religion)
to their homes on Sundays -
for lunch and then a chat.

They might enjoy the taste
of unknown recipes.
They might have fun
and soon make friends.

The man or woman on the street
does not want war...

Ask politicians (or better,
oblige them with a law)
to study compromise, fair play,
and how to just give in a bit
whenever possible...

Hanging in an Orchard Glade…

They had a life till evil came along,
places to go, things to see and admire.
Both dreamt of lovers, of a gentle song,
instead they have their funeral pyre.

No other animal does this to it's kin,
yes they’ll fight when hungry for food.
As far as I’m concerned they win,
when battling man for common good.

These girls just happened to be there,
upon this same earth as you and I.
Then the imbeciles laid them bare,
two young lives hung out to die.

You may be born any day now, any hour even.

But here I am alone, just waiting,
with a mixture of trepidation
(having seen too many disasters)
and anticipation of a new age,
not old age exactly,
but grandpa age.

Just as long as all goes well
I may soon be able to teach you a little,
calmly, slowly but surely,
fruit of experience,
knowledge of one life at least.