Moon Buried In The Mud

Moon stayed with us on each terrace
of hope we had built together.
Our sweet friend came every night,
sometimes hidden behind endless clouds,
others as radiant as our hearts
ready to embark in an Icarus flight.

We followed the moon high up in the sky
until our wings collapsed and we fell down.
Some other citizens did not take flight,
they stayed on the ground next to the waters
where the moon reflected itself.

One boy tried to fish the celestial body
but he could not, and some people
laughed at the absurdity of his occurrence.
He only wanted to join us, hopers,
believers in dreams can come true.

If only our wings had been stronger…
If only all those other citizens had followed us…

But none of this happened. Instead,
our hopes were buried in the mud.
Moon buried in the mud.

Citizens beaten up by the police,
humiliated, imprisoned or exiled,
and our political leaders in constant disagreement…

Where is the Unity We, the People, ask for?

After two years and a half gone by
all of a sudden the moon has returned
to a terrace of hope. Can’t you see that?
Or am I deluding myself? No, there is
that hope in the pale moonlight.
Our candle’s still burning…

It will take longer than expected,
while our wings are being repaired.
We are not that amateur now,
we are perfecting the technique
and the Empire will slowly decompose.
Our candle’s never to be extinguished.

We don’t know when it will happen.
I hope not many years from now.
We, the People, have only ourselves
and we shall take our final successful flight.

© 2020 Marta Pombo Sallés