He could not save him.
He ran fast, with his make-shift,
Cardboard shield, and jumped before
David, a second too late.
They were no friends, not like, you
Know, from school or the boy scouts
Or the long-time neighbours kind of mates.
They were kin more like in Henry V,
Where all who sheds his blood with
Me is my brother on Saint Crispin’s day.
He jumped with all his might,
But the bullet fired with hate found
Its way to David’s neck.
“Don’t died on me,” the shielder said,
As he pulled David away.
But he did.
On the street that was their battleground.
David had no lethal weapon, except his
Youth, his naivete and maybe a rock.
That, and his hunger for freedom.
Enough to make the national guard
Feel threaten and make him pull his shot.
Some comrade-in-arms took his body,
And shielder stayed behind.
And he sat on the pavement.
And the child-warrior cried.
(This is based on a true story that occurred on June 22, 2017. David Vallenilla was shot dead by a Venezuelan national guard, as he protested foe freedom, and the picture above shows when a “shielder” as Venezuelan call them tried to save him)