So hot and so dry during summer,
So cold and hostile during winter,
Just a taste of spring and another of summer pass through here,
This Sonoran Desert,
The murderous route that often takes its toll of death
But it’s not your fault, nor your brutal temperatures’
It is so normal for you to see the suffering of so many,
Of all ages, directions and colors, is a sea of tears in the desert
The cry of those who just want to achieve a snatched dream,
You; desert … with your snakes and scorpions
Your coyotes howling at the moon
Saying among them:
“There go some more others”
Your hungry vultures, they are looking and monitoring, challenging during the day,
Your güizaches, saguaros and mountains that stretch as far as the eye can see,
That make you wonder, is there still any hope,
No matter how big and dangerous you are,
You have never set us with borders –
And yet today you look like a war zone,
With la migra and their drones, infra red cameras
Radars, sensors and walls, men on horseback, motorcycles
By truck and helicopter, hunting, waiting
And if that is not enough, Nazi ranchers who also want to hunt,
Which also monitor waiting for prey,
Drug dealers and corrupt police, burreros, money, drugs, threats, exploitation, dreams, hopes, memories, life and death,
All in native lands, underground…
All thanks to globalization, colonization, confusion and injustice,
You, desert, with your heat or with your snakes, or with your thorns,
Have ever been as dangerous as the greed of a few,
Rest for you is never seen, desert,
Always remaining perpetual,
There, without offering water or fruit to those who pass by,
Only the shelter of the stars and a bed of stone,
You only offer shade but with thorns,
You only offer one option that requires risking everything,
But it’s not your fault,
You’re just a witness, not the enemy.
How many have you seen, with the passage of time?
Have you contemplated such slaughter before?
Such anguish?
Such confusion?
Such injustice?
Certainly not your fault,
It is just the destination,
For you to be the way,
Of that pilgrim
That at home has no chance,
Because capitalism has taken away everything,
And afflicted today,
Turning towards north, confused
And wonders,
Why do they have more there and not here?
