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TRIBUTE
=By= José M. Tirado
Dept of Energy
WE WALK ON FIRE
(In memory of John Trudell, Feb. 15, 1946 – Dec. 8, 2015)
There is fire beneath our feet,it doesn´t warm, it burns-
we plant seeds of red fire and
walk on scorched Earth:
Mother, Father, giver of food of medicine,
of Life, but
We walk on fire now…
Black tar waters, poisoned fish,
the running streams are sick, the lakes emptied.
Water tables are set with bones,
dinner is served cold
over a cauldron of Death,
meat for the masses.
We walk on fire now…
A foot from his stomach
an extra head, no eyes,
no brains in Brownsville , either,
(no heart anywhere).
Others walk on bended knees
set securely with metal pins
their faces masks of pain
their bodies Agent Orange suckled…
all over they are there watching us,
haunting consciences, such as there are left…
we walk on fire now…
They´ll battle it here
they´ll battle it there
barrels and bomblets on
bakeries and babies,
(the wedding crashers of the West)
flatten with their lackies
girls in their frilly dresses and
little boys on the beach
a hand, a finger, a fist,
there is no justification for
any of this-
we walk on fire now…
Purity drowns near Lesvos´ beaches
washes up with sneakers and jacket still on
and cameras carry the cries into homes
far away, tuning in
for a mini-series or politician´s lies
before tuning out
and turning away.
Turning away…
Always, turning away…
We walk on fire now…
A long way away from hope,
where the stars
are dimmer,
the oceans warmer, now Beijing produces
bricks from dirty air.
A plastic fork is taken from a tortoises ´nose,
a dead bird has plastic toys and paper clips
in its ripped belly,
alligators swim near golf clubs,
(Ojala! they would eat well there!)
Along Amazonian waters yellowed debris
and black poison feed the living
while the dead atop mountains are displayed,
glaciers revealing their dwindling goods.
Fire now.
We walk on fire now…
A world ablaze and spirits dying
We walk with bare feet on bare lands
while fire burns the hearts
and the soles of our feet
never touching the ground
never touching
the ground
in love…
never touching the ground
as we walk,
we walk on fire
to the never receding horizon
lit by different fires
coming near
burning us in the Fire
we will never walk on again.
José M. Tirado is a Puertorican poet, Buddhist priest, and political writer living in Hafnarfjorður, Iceland, known for its elves, “hidden people” and lava fields. His articles and poetry have been featured in CounterPunch, Cyrano´s Journal, The Galway Review, Dissident Voice, La Respuesta, Op-Ed News, among others. He can be reached at tirado.jm@gmail.com.
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