Witness, the bricks are torn down one

by one today, the locust trees 

race along in the heat of the scorching sun.

I hear, the red that walls bleed.

By the clear water ridge I was born: sounds of the water

stream hollow in my ears, but now

the cranes in the sky have the power

of the Midas touch, to turn stone into big red bucks.

 
Now I turn to leave briskly to the most transparent city 

Under the florescent lights, there’s no fireflies

no silent nights, no black and white 

In every glow, there’s a red for sacrifice.

So this metropolis moves on and on

while I, spot the grey sojourning around me,

down beneath my feet, up above my head—

Hell, even the concrete jungle right around me.

 
Born under a Caribbean blue sky,

born next to the grappling green vines,

we refuge under the red and grey

but we seek no solace, we find no tranquil

in the roar of cars, the smell of bars, the neon lights

under the befouled skies, the cunning regime, the electric buzzing.

I can see days passed by me, I hold no grief

the pellucid sky that beams down to remind us, 

the glimmering waves splash alongside the howling stone lions 

to nudge us, to declare they hold no grudge on us

for the way we turned away, and smile spontaneously.

Witness, I discolor, and the city too.

Together, we meet in the middle, into a harmony of colors 

to leave behind the past pains, bittersweet sorrows

and race towards the embrace of the entwining highways

to move along, so life won’t pass me by.

Witness, an old man pedals on his grey bicycle

with ruby cherries in the basket, humming

the tune of delicate delight towards the falling sun,

purple magnolias in the wind fluttering

alongside the whistling locust trees.