Poemas Urbanos-Urban Poetry

The sky gives no warning, the radar never lies, fire falls from the north on the innocent neighborhood. There was no threat, not a cry, not a gesture, only the hunger of an empire that have placed its finger on the map, its boot on the neck, erasing peace with a cold seal. They say there are treaties, signed papers, but paper doesn’t hold up against heavy tanks. They are dead letters in marble halls, while the lead withers even the trees. Invasion in a tie, aggression with etiquette, peace is a luxury that’s not on the menu. Since ancient times the script is the same: pushing the small one toward the cruel abyss. Without provocation, without being a threat, the wolf walks straight into the house. They ignore the laws, they laugh at the pact, international law is broken on contact. The asphalt remembers the blood spilled, history is the wound that is not stitched. What good is the forum? What good is the outcry? If the powerful write their own verdict. Bombs raining down, sepulchral silence, the law of the strongest is the general law. It’s the never-ending story, the eternal return, where the world watches from its comfortable surroundings. While the neighborhood burns and the treaty is consumed, the invasion becomes the daily bread of the system. This poem seeks to capture that frustration of seeing how brute force often disregards peace agreements.