MARIO MEDINA

UNCONQUERABLE DISSENT

 

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Our land used to be

A sea of blue estuaries,

A cliff of nearby islands,

A mosaic of sleeping plains.

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Our life used to be

A home without an address,

A treasure without riches,

A soft whisper into the ear of nature.

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My bow used to be

A finely carved piece

Of blue and red stripes,

Elegant, strong, simple, flexible.

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My arrow used to be

A lethal tip

Coated in poison,

Feared by my enemies.

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Sacred, sunlit desert—

How could we not fight,

How could we not die,

For you?
 

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