The InterActivist
Es mejor morir de pie que vivir de rodillas.-Emiliano ZapataFlower In The Sun
Dear flower in the sun,
Whose life has just begun,
A life so soon is done,
Cut down by the gun,
O rain come wash away,
This tumult and dismay,
Earth take in this blood,
That we spill here today,
And grow young blossom,
In this early morn,
Soak in, young flower,
All that we mourn,
Our tears that feed you,
We cry for ourselves,
I still hear his mother,
No louder than Hell,
And the blossoms bloom as he falls to the Earth,
As his brief life ends so soon to be cursed,
And damned he is to a thing that must fail,
Damned his whole life to no avail,
But they will not miss him,
They won’t even know,
How this boy died ‘fore
The last falling snow,
To them he’s another,
Nothing but a number,
Of the many who die,
On this day their slumber,
But oh to a mother,
I still see her cry,
And his friends so somber,
To them he’ll not die,
And every year on this day,
Every four twenty,
My mind goes away,
To a man who left plenty,
I think it’s ironic, in a way,
Through guns and crack and heroin,
A boy ends up dead for only one reason,
He did not tuck his seatbelt in,
And my grandmother wails alone at night,
Her own son’s suicide such a fright,
On his very own birthday, of all times,
And when his mother is coming home,
To my uncle I give this,
And to my friend in the grave,
To another I passed by
In the park every day,
To the ones who die,
Their own birth so nigh,
To the falling of the sun,
Those fallen by the gun,
Take my hand, my son,
The day, alas, is done,
And we’ll walk home together,
Through it all we’ll whether,
O flower in the sun,
Your life has just begun,
Choices they are yours to make,
So please put down that gun
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