Filed under: Política
Last week on Sunday morning, I was sitting in the reading room at Boston Public Library, flipping through the pages of Poems from Guantanamo one last time before returning it to circulation. I was strangely calm, knowing not how or what I should be feeling. Empathy, after all, was useless: it would not get you out of prison, or any of the many other innocent men locked up in the horror that is Gitmo. It was perhaps that sense of incapacity, the inability to do anything that threw me into a state of half-despair. I had copied the following lines into my small black notebook:
They have monuments to liberaty
And freedom of opinion, which is well and good.But I explained to them that
Architecture is not justice.America, you ride on the backs of orphans
And terrorize them daily.Bush, beware
The world recognizes an arrogant liar. (more…)
