Leaving myself, I want to go somewhere far away, but anywhere I go, my forehead goes, goes my eye, voice, everything—inescapable The walk, which I walk to leave them they all go on that walk by my feet How many times, how many tricks I find to leave my bloody, raped, burnt body, but I can’t. At least to get relief for a while from those I try to sleep, look for the sovereignty of sleep but anywhere I lie, my bloodied body lies in me, bearing the unbearable pain, then the nightmare haunts me, and into the turmoil there’s also the torture, injustice, and infinite violence, as in my awakened universe—they hunt me for the feast of Westerners, as if I’m the beast or bird of the Amazon forest; they are drunk in the game of destruction with me, as I’m the mine of coal or oil; they grind me like a lemon or orange in the blender to exploit the labor of the proletariat I struggle for freedom, struggle to get back the fear-free birthplace of silk-cotton, coral tree forest and corn fields, but there’s the historical consequences of development: wasteland, massacre lack of oxygen, I can’t breathe, in intense thirst, my throat gets not a drop of pure water, even any vapor In excruciating pain, eventually, I pray for nirvana but it’s hell, really, I can never get the salvation Nirvana or peace is merely a hypothesis O death, now I try to cry for you—though the cry is explosive, but it can’t burst for a strange pressure hostage to violent silence— I’ve to live with such a destiny!