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Third World War - A poem

After nature, war Old bully, comes back With her air of wisdom Of a wise and generous assassin.

Did Buñuel's idle generals Became tired of their games? Were they so embarrassed By the anti-macho movement? By children who defeated them In their chess games?

We were born used to you And you ask us for our cheeks Our passports, Our secret loves portraits of my life My shattered illusions And those I still preserve To keep me on my feet

These are times of anguish For birds and fishes For every mother Who suffers earth’s ghastly wounds.

We, children, listen Hurras to the catastrophe That Cain and Herod announced To the sound of trumpets That peeked out of their nets

World War 3 As a child you terrified me; Today, adult, I fight you sowing flowers, Protecting whom I see

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