Mired legs, perspiring in solstice,
dark face with scars and bruises,
looking very filthy and vile...

Still a beautiful heart hides in their feigned smile..

In your air conditioned adobe try to imagine their agonies,
and listen their undertone screams...

You will see their eyes filled with liquid nostalgia,
still they too have dreams...

See they ain't as cruel and vicious as they seem...



When they bury the seeds in the ground...

The arid garden...