Mario Benedetti, Disappeared

It's easier to express an opinion about the US than one about Mexico's current situation. Dead bodies keep falling from the skies all over the states. Three more students a few days ago in Veracruz and 22 found in a van just recently, six soldiers and 4 civilians in Sinaloa after a cartel ambush, four priests in Michoacán and sadly, two more students from Ayotzinapa were executed by the side of the road.

It's almost Day of the Dead and it's still very hard to fathom that these incidents stack upon each other, like a game of cards whose macabre dealer has no intention to stop. And just when one player wins, the dealer, unfairly so, swipes everything away, laughing, kicking them out of the casino, increasing his deck as those who complain outside swiftly disappear...

They’re out there somewhere / all assembled

disassembled / bewildered / voiceless 

each seeking the others / seeking us

hemmed in by their question marks and doubts

with their eyes on the ironwork in the plazas

the doorbells / the shabby rooftops

sorting through their dreams / forgotten memories

perhaps recovering from their private deaths

no one has told them yet for sure

if they’re gone for good or not

if they’re banners now or tremors

survivors or prayers for the dead

they see trees and birds go by

and wonder which shadows are theirs

when they first started disappearing

three five seven ceremonies ago

disappearing as if they were ghosts

with no trace or face or good reason

they glimpsed through the window of their absence

what was left behind / that scaffold

of embraces sky and smoke

when they first started disappearing

like the oasis in a mirage

disappearing with no last words

they still held in their hands the pieces

of things they loved

they’re out there somewhere / in the clouds or a grave

they’re out there somewhere / of that I’m certain

in the dear southern reaches of my heart

it may be they’ve lost their bearings

and now they wander asking always asking

where the fuck is the road to true love

because they’re coming from so much hate
Mario Benedetti