“
In tribunal,
Mother held a funeral.
Fake condolers spread,
A debate they held
For here I was,
Behind bars,
Her heart I took stealthily,
And she…
Fell for me,
Unwillingly.
Silence!
the judge said
to audience:
Mother, defense,
Reporters, radio agents,
The girl's father; the wronged.
Plead your case,
judge says,
to the father, my prosecutor,
to guillotine, pushing me closer.
"This boy is but a thief,
Stealing a heart from my daughter.
His poetry starting a war within her,
Between his charm and care
For her and another,
Between his eloquence and fear,
And how much closer she went.
On love she came to reflect.
And his way a choice she sent:
Love not the rhyme, but me… repent.
Or let poetry be enough,
throw away my love.
Of quitting poetry, he reported
then betrayed her heart and stole it.
Now without him she is
With her love he lives
And caused his madness her death
This, your honor is the case.
I now demand Justice,
And the guillotine."
"Silence! Defense."
This boy, your honor,
A poet and a sweet-talker,
Both things,
inevitable and meritless.
He, I say, shall be sold
To the unemployed,
And those who of hope are void,
Or to radio agents
To break him apart
And be, for entertainment, sold
in a gallery
of yearning and joining, specially
or renouncement and criticism, alternately,
or love unescapable.
Money, it shall yield,
a compensation
to the girl
and her lost heart
that is now ancient."
"Silence! The Mother."
"Your honor,
If him you must kill,
Include me in the will.
Let the pond of his blood
Water the crops
Let its source be my heart
and his unpublished poems
and the starved bellies
and the nibs of birds
the branch inhabitants
That should be rather the middle
Between his memory and the kill
Rather fearless
Not a hunger filled injustice"
The father,
"I object,
It is all of him I want
A compensation
for my daughter and her heart"
The defense,
"Rather to pieces
be fractioned,
Between the ill, the unemployed and the runaway;
Divided."
A humming noise,
In his honor's chest,
In my rhymes,
Rather… in the entire court.
"Silence!", he said.
He
a man who is free
His heart telling him to revolt
The only power he's got
Is but a plea to God
To be by the revolution killed not
And by karma hit not.
What I now see fit,
Is for him to be executed,
by what to his nature is opposite.
Deny him the pen
And the flag
Tell him
every detail of the girl and her lost heart
No way to reach her will be allowed he
This is my decree
Allowed not his poetry
Is but death to the free
To be by his words suffocated
To love stealthily
"All Rise!"
"Case dismissed."
Oh, la la la
Oh, la la la
”
”