FULL MOON ON TOP OF A CHAMPAGNE PALM'S TIP

we have actually so many things to say
something to do with rivers, the boat we are riding is sinking,
just a wooden boat anyway
in this story,

we know the weight of guns that they carry
bullets are scattered by them in every wave
we like to say that this is wrong
but if we dare then we will be next to the list
of another chain of silenced.

so we keep dealing with metaphors
we chant an alliteration of other people's wrongs
their violence has become an art for forgiving
always, always forgiving,
always, always tolerance
we know better, we must understand
deep deep down the deepest part of the
brown river

no fish lives there anymore
no bird dares migrating
only shells and coverings

we always justify all these wars
with the history of a beginning
how they were ousted from the shorelines
how the mountains have to be regained
with the height of their old confidences.

another one is shot today.
They keep on saying it is deserved.
They keep on saying it is not even enough for
the number of their dead long years back
before we arrived here.

another body is buried.
We fall short of stones and flowers.
The eulogy is kept unsaid.

We are always afraid. They know the real reasons.
They keep on saying we are not from this place.
We must go away, we must surrender all roots of our trees.
That is the condition for peace.
Their term is our death.

If we do something there will be a flare of flames.
We are certain. It is just a matter of time too.
When pushed beyond our limits

We do not write a novel of forgiveness.
We have poem inside our hearts.
It is a fire bird.

When freed from our hands after a hundred years of slumber
It shall sing of violence too.
What option do we have?

Tell me, good historian.