The Yellow Brick Road: Poems by Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal

WHAT PATH SHOULD I TAKE? 

What paths should I take?
I hear laughter ahead of me.
It makes me sad to think I am 
the source of that laughter.

I follow the yellow brick road.
My steps are labour at my age.
Under a desolate sky I think I 
will never get to my destination.

I feel listless on the new path.
I blink when I see a light coming 
toward at me in record speed. I 
will sleep like sheep under moonlight.


THE UNFORTUNATE ONES 

Suffering for some is how much more 
wealth they cannot accumulate.
Others are lucky to have one decent 
meal a day procured from a trash bin.

Hope for some is being able to buy a
bigger mansion, a larger yacht.
Others hope for a tent that keeps out
the rain or rats rummaging for scraps.

Here in this world everything is for sale.
The unfortunate ones pay with their lives.
There is blood in the streets from which
warmongers collect the blood money.

Dead and buried in the debris from 
bombing attacks lie the unfortunate ones.
Trampled under the foot of hatred,
people are crushed along with their flag.

The tears of oblivion fall from the eyes
of the unfortunate ones cold and wet.
The purveyors of death will get theirs.
Their hope for immortality is just that.


THE BIG BABY CRIED 

(After Noor E. Zahra)

The big baby cried
and the earth began to shake.
Mountains crumbled.
Dead bodies multiplied with each cry.

The big baby cried
and every tree tumbled down.
The sun and moon
fell into the ocean to their extinction.

The big baby cried
and its tears became rivers and floods.
The grass was drowned.
The stars glittered in the ocean waves.

The big baby cried
and every heart began to break in two.
The baby’s tears flooded the earth,
which could not take all the weight.

The big baby cried 
and the sky began to fall. There was
nothing that could make the crying stop
as darkness fell all over the earth.

The big baby cried
its tears into the void filled with sorrow
and pain one might surmise. These 
alligator tears were just a tantrum that 
brought the rain of all rains to earth.

The big baby cried 
and the earth shed all its blood.
The big baby howled
and not even the big bad wolf came.

Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal, born in Mexico, now lives in California and works in Los Angeles. His poetry has appeared in Blue Collar Review, Borderless Journal, Hobo Camp Review, Mad Swirl, and Unlikely Stories. His poetry book, Peering into the Sun, was published by Poet’s Democracy.

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PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL

Click here to access Wild Winds: The Borderless Anthology of Poems

Click here to access the Borderless anthology, Monalisa No Longer Smiles