Brother's Fence

Canons and cries, guns and bullets.
Our pants wet we flee death.
Not so much of it's strange smell,
We, death, hunger and poverty are synonymous.

We hurry north to our 'brothers'
of the straight hair for their sophisticated security.
Most of us don't make it, they join who we left behind in 'Glory'.
Vultures have perfected in postmortems, results, starvation.

After a thorough cross examination
Our hosts contemptuously share their peace across the wall.
For fear of contagious diseases and habitual crime
Some brothers share their death too, thanks to drug trafficking and crime

My sisters are raped, my children beggars.
We're baptized hostile refugees
We coil, we cry, we sigh and wait for a better day at our brother's morsels.

In our silence and contemplation, we see things different.
Death here is served by cafeteria, we take what suits us.
We see suffering differently,
Thanks to my kinky hair that covers my face not to see the misdemeanor!