We sow the seeds of our hatred

And who said that the earth could not hate the airy cathedrals
Where you had enshrined your glory?

The quiver of the night has lost its mantle
Of erratic dew. Let it be sung chorused the birds
To the pompous wind:
That this malcontent earth
Be sown back with righteousness
And salvation.
Salvation from the clans
Whose descent are from the falsified gods
Whose heirs too would be falsified gods
Whose wives would be gods
Whose grandsons would be gods
And great-grandsons too
All falsified by the anger of a gun
All falsified by the sins of the coin
Subterfuge, deceit.

Who said that the fallen grass will not condemn the names
Of the sky for ingratitude, for failing the rains?

The shadow of the light moves in sync
To the rupture of voices. Let it be written said the summers
To the moisture that was supposed to pour
In time:
That this waiting sands
Be watered with vision
And renewal.
Renewal from the powers
Whose winged steeds are worshipped too,
Sacrosant like the ages, untouched
Sacrosant like the eternity in their hands
The torpor of the infinite, infinite
Chair that will rig again the souls
That will ring again the falsity
Of waiting for lesser gods.

And out of this waiting
Out of this advent
For the upturning of the earth
We sow our hatred to the grass
And scoop the wriggling sand in our hands.