DEATH IN THE DESERT
He was cleaning the sand from his weapons
While memories kept haunting him
-radiant bonfires in his brains-
a joyful gathering of friends
down at the beach in Bodega Bay.
Boys and girls singing in the night
Because they were not twenty yet.
Sweat was running down his body,
A merciless sun absorbing his youth
At each second he spent in that desert.
He just wanted to remember her lips
Because nothing matters in the world
But love, when you are not twenty.
He kept cleaning his weapons looking around
Because you never knew when and from where
The enemy would strike
-Enemy who was defending his beliefs and land-
He heard something and fear flooded his heart,
Fear that makes heroes and suicidal deaths in the sand.
Because he was not twenty yet
And had in his lips the taste of love
And of sweet company in the night.
The sand, blown by careless winds
Kept covering his weapons and he stopped
That useless cleaning
He heard a buzzing sound and nothing else.
Bits of his flesh and bits of love
Tinted crimson, blood crimson, the surrounded sand
And not being twenty yet
He was dead in a foreign land.