(Planet Earth, seen from 37,000 feet)
photo & poem © Jesús Montero
If you strip the Human Race
From her costumes or
From what to, she’s variably accustomed...
If you see her, naked,
Reduced to
Blood, bones and flesh.
No heart.
If you forget about the brain.
And see no lands.
No borders.
No road maps...
If you gaze at her, uncrippled
By politics, beliefs or religion...
And think
Of Syria, Palestine and Israel.
All in one phrase.
And ride the storm
Through
The roar of drones,
The shots of snipers.
Her removed heart
Will ache.
Her motherhood, maimed.
By the worst sight of all.
A pile of dead infants.
On a road to nowhere.
photo & poem © Jesús Montero
