Dear Brothers and Sisters,

One Love!!
24 years ago, under military dictatorship of rape,
murder and inmense grey sadness,
They went in search of him, Juan Gelman the Poet,
That night he was not a home, so, with death logic and claws,
they went and picked up his son instead.
Happened that his son had a wife,
and the girl was pregnant, both in their twenties,
so they took her too, what the fuck!
He was tortured and killed,
His grandfather, Juan, searched for him or his bones
found them, kinda twenty years after,
and a bit of peace came to his heart.
His son's wife, was too
tortured, and gave birth under it in a concentration camp,
then, after, of course, with death logic,
tortured her a bit more then killed her
and her bones were never found,
But the grandfather the poet the Man
kept on searching
from exhile, from wherever, from nowhere,
and twenty four years after, he found the baby, that is today,
She's 24, he?
i do not know
ageless oldancient but never rusty.
Saw the man on tv, telling the news to all of us
that found in her in him our own beloved
never lost compaeros/as.
Saw the Man, a tear
a single teardrop falling from his voice
who can say of happiness or pain,
a single, only, tear, the source
of all poetry, all dignity all struggle
all finding all walking all loving all living
are contained in this, this, this,
tear mixing with this red wine glass
rised with salud! cheers!
for life for revolution for the One Love
Dead can really dance.
Auttum has definitely come
as every year and sometimes days
as leaves dancing and nights
as days years nights leaves
running slow like a snail
a heart a love a missing a hole
dressed in poetry in faith in the word
that calling the true name sings
bringing forth the mistery of life
the pain the heart the memory the walk
pathless deep track blood seaching blood
pulse searching pulse and nothing
noone not the nobodies
that dissapeared tortured killed
and many other names that i'll spare the ear of
has stopped, arrested, poluted, weakened

the auttum eyes the poetry dressed heart

the nights the missing the love
today great day humble day justice day
this pulse searching palpitating the hole
has found his blood that is to saysingcry
has found his seed his flower found her wind
and the seed, of all of us seed search
flyes fertilized in this sea
in which at least this time this laughter tear
is resting is dancing is shining the past
is unpredictable the future is less misty
like the trees flying as the birds
unclouding the red oceans.
Augusto Alcalde
3/31/2000