The Shielder


23 06 2017 escudero 2


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)

23 06 17 escudero


Universal Law




It is a universal law that no stranger can break your heart.

Not the deep, truest, intimate inner sanctum of it.

Perhaps the pain of others will wound it, crack it, with time even harden parts of it.

But no stranger can break it.

It will not be your boss or your nemesis,

The rude passer-by, the indifferent or hateful people crossing your path.


Only love has that very exclusive and powerful power over your heart.

Only those whom we love can break us down.


Flaming Tower

towar inferno@KaremIBarratt



Sometimes you just run out words,

Out steam, out of tears.

Sometimes you become a dried river,

And your heart a cracked piece of land

Where no seed can grow.

Sometimes the world is just too much.

And although you are faraway,

You can hear the screams, the crackling

Of the flames, slithering up the building

Like a winding snake, a fire snake,

Searching for it wings and take flight,

Caring not for a little child, an old man,

A family of five. The fire snake wants

To become a dragon and fly.

Was it the gas? Was it the cladding?

Was it the alarms? Was it the policies?

What turned a gigantic block of flats

Into a torch, lighting up the night,

Breaking it with shattered windows and shrieks,

With the sum of all fears,

Falling down with the debris?

And amid the emptiness and broken heartedness,

The anger and the pain, they see us, in shades of grey,

Plastered faces on a wall, scrawled names and post-it prayers

Asking for a glimmer of impossible hope.

And sometimes the world is just too much.