Overwhelming heat

melts the scent of the laurel roses

near the high walls

under the tall mango tree

losing its young tasteless fruit

burns the many coloured petals

of the frail petunias

that lie dying on the sand

of the exercise yard

 

In this sun

the earth all around

is empty of water

 

Only the endless wave-song

beyond the barb-wire

is a lullaby that rocks our enclosed and watchful sleep

 

is a confession

of a journey via Valparaiso

beneath the huge white mushroom cloud

infecting the sky over Mururoa

 

a scream

deafening cry

echoing the cries of Santiago’s tortured

 

an entreaty

words of combat

echoing the words of Pablo Neruda Victor Jara¹

Salvador Allende

and his last remaining companeros

 

carrying us forward

in dignity

stronger and more serene

more timeless than that of the ageless majestic

stone guardians of Rapanui²

  

Camp-Est prison, November 1974