Saturday, February 18, 2012


By: Gus Victoria

My little friend
You are Mexico,
You, more than the eagle
That flies high in our myths,
Mirror our country,
Indicting our actions,
Shaming us,
Your home once was the great Xochimilco,
Today it is a gutter of filth,
Once you swam in crystal pure waters,
Waters that today are a memory,
A distant memory we cherish,
A reality we forget,
Axolotl, my dear water-dog,
Or is death you proclaim?
We bleed as we fight,
You regenerate what you lose,
Would that we could,
We forget our roots,
You live in yours,
Would that we could remember ours,
We are both old and ancient,
Myth and history woven
Into a fabric unbreakable,
We both are dying in that quilt
Wrapped in pride,
Mexico slowly dies,
Axolotl you dear friend die as well,
While the eagle soars
We die.

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