It’s being such a long day, today. 

Such a dragging day!
It’s being raining all day,
How could a single day be this gloomy and sad?

How could I be this mad!

My tears had turned into a non stop river. 
My home into a lake.
It is so cold and clouded outside;
And I truly miss being by your side.

I couldn’t hug you today
like I used to do every day.
I couldn’t hold you.
I couldn’t kiss you goodbye.

With someone else
you ran away, last night.
How could you dare
breaking my heart?

It’s being a long day, today.
It’s being raining all day,
How could a day be so sad?


Then I Could Hear My Heart Beating

Then I could hear my heart beating

I saw his bright face and time stood still.

It was as if my soul could recognize his.

As if my past was connected and entwined with his.

As if my pain and broken heart could feel his.

It hurt.

Staring at him was ripping out my soul.

His face was bright, and his soft full lips, 

looked thirsty to me as he slid closer and closer

He was tall, with wide bright eyes.

His naked chest was beating so fast,

Hard, harder than my own heart.

I couldn’t touch him. 

Although I tried.

All I could do was to feel.

Stay still.

Feel my blood rushing fast

into my head, my mind,

and through parts of my body

that I though long time forgotten and death.

And it hurt somehow,

knowing that this feeling

was the closest thing that I ever had to love.

It was much more than passion,

or even lust.

But he was forbidden to me.

My charming dark knight,

hurt by my same pain,

same loneliness,

and same longing

was finally face to face with me.

And I had to let him go,

as I felt my heart crack, breaking in two,

beating, and dying for love,

a love that couldn’t exist

because he was a only a ghost.

Poem by: Evelyn Rodriguez-Lallave

The “Indians” are Coming

“I think of the lizards airing their tongues 
In the crevice of an extremely small shadow 
And the toad guarding his heart’s droplet. 

The desert is white as a blind man’s eye, 
Comfortless as salt. Snake and bird 
Doze behind the old maskss of fury…

…The sun puts its cinder out. Where we lie 
The heat-cracked crickets congregate 
In their black armorplate and cry. 

The day-moon lights up like a sorry mother, 
And the crickets come creeping into our hair 
To fiddle the short night away.” ( Excerpt  of Sylvia’s Plath poem, Sleep in the Mojave Desert )

They are comming on foot, in horses and in caravans, reclaiming what was theirs, what once belong to them, their fathers and forefathers. But this time around the “Indians” as some derogatorily call them, these indigenous by blood and Americans by right of their land, North, Central, and South, are coming in avalange to take what’s theirs. But not by brute force as they lost their land once to the British, and the Spaniards or the Anglo-Americans that weren’t either British nor Spanish conquistadors.  Yet their modus operandum were as equally as devastating as the later ones.

To them,  the Anglo-Americans’ actions were worst, because they were determined to make home in a country that was already populated by Natives, and indigenous, from the Chayannes, to Navajos, to the Apaches, and the forgotten Taínos, and many more. So now a new group with indigenous blood and fire in their eyes and soles were coming into the “New America” as they called it. 

The New America

Over centuries a group of people called Gringoes, and who were direct descendants of the British and Spaniards Pilgrims and Soldiers showed up to the Native people’s  backyards with either food or weapons. With friendship or war. It was something very confusing to each one of the 3 nations, the North, the Central and the South American Native tribes. Each one had one single leader the North was a nice old man named Noel. No one knew his real indigenous name for he only went by his Anglo given name as his mother as Anglo too.