Dr. Ramón Del Castillo

 

Editor’s Note: Dr. Ramón Del Castillo read the following poem during at the César Chávez Peace and Justice Committee of Denver’s Mass at St. John Francis Regis Chapel, Regis University on April 13, 2024.

 

 

Who is going to shovel

ashes of Ukrainian children

bodies burnt to a crisp

from the sweltering chemicals

invading their bodies,

and place them

into body bags,

ready to

mix them

with an ideological mortar

called human genocide.

Will vestiges

of human flesh

be spread

like mantequilla

across urban streets

of nations in turmoil,

casualties of death

caused by the elites

fatalities of technological warfare

of ruthless nations

hiding behind

modern day weaponry

fascists unable to discern

right from wrong

planning for the next attack?

 

Who is going to

pick up the ashes

of Palestinian and Israeli children

victims of religious zeal

armed and ready to kill.

Who is going to summon

withered spirits

roaming in country sides

floating in an abyss

of loneliness

as lifeless bodies

lie on cement streets

victims of a war torn nation

without an explanation

except to rationalize extermination

as unintended consequences

the price of war

leaving another a big scar?

 

Who is going to feed

farmworker children

their next meal

as they pick vegetables and fruit

from trees of survival

for wealthy American’s children

and their clandestine revival?

Who is going to wipe off

chemicals off a child’s face

as she becomes

an extinct race?

 

Who is going to

cuddle the quetzales

and los pericos,

whose destinies

of becoming bilingual pajaritos

to salvage the next generation

of raza suffering

from cultural extinction

now locked in cages

ripped apart from families

on both sides

of a fictitious border

covered with american drapes

so they won’t escape

while politicians

flicker a smile

as the border wall

stretches another mile.

 

Who is going to

salvage the broken hearts

of broken families

whose absconded children

perished in U-Haul trucks

skin melted

then pelted

by the sun’s rays,

children without names

sin sobrenombres

unfit to be sold

as modern day slaves?

 

Who is supposed to protect

third graders

innocent children

trembling under desks

in a classroom

while a half crazed

mental patient

suffers

from alienation

carrying assault weapons

during a crazy episodic event,

children whose caretakers

couldn’t muster up

enough courage

to save innocent lives

now etched in

a barrio’s memory

insanity at its best!

Who is going to

create termination rituals

for those young souls

who departed prematurely?

 

Who will do

una limpia

create harmony

restore balance

as spirits

march solemnly

into the 5^th world

el Quinto sol

where wise healers

curanderas

shamanes

voodoo priests

spiritual leaders

have gathered

for a despedida,

a ceremony

to honor the dead?

Whose going

to tell them

a bedtime story

in their language

about a nation

losing its glory

as the power structure

takes advantage

watching spirits vanish?

 

What do we do

with the emaciated bodies

of Native Americans

uncovered beneath mother earth

dying in Native American prisons

euphemistically called

American Indian Boarding Schools,

children whose braids

were chopped off

names changed,

identities stolen,

culturally raped?

What words of wisdom

will Grandfather Creator

include in his sermon

during a spiritual reincarnation?

Will he summon

ancient flute players

invite the rhythms of drums

to play soft music

during their departure?

When will

he smoke

from the sacred pipe

full of peyote and sage

so we can heal from the rage?

 

When will the ghost dancer

Appear during a silent night

pray for healing

and take spirits

to nepantla

a sacred space

in between

two worlds

encircled with the sweet smell

of sacrosanct medicine

now left with

only a dark cloud

of sacred smoke

smoldering from

a revered pipe

a Medicine Man

praying for

a safe sojourn

during a second

trail of tears,

as human droplets

of memories

are sprinkled

onto la tierra sagrada.

 

La Curandera

under the light

of the moon

will perform

holy rites and rituals

blessing young lost souls

wading in

las lagrimas

de la gente.

 

Who is going to write

an epitaph

in the next history book?

To remind us

of a broken social contract

torn in half

by bewildered youth

Will it be you?

 

Dr. Ramón Del Castillo © April 12, 2024