Late Sunday afternoons in Nicaragua

Sun on pastel doorways

All dressed up sitting on front steps

Watching everything pass watch it pass

Different dreams are dreamt here

Different thoughts projected

Supplanted white skin;

reflected in the brownest of eyes.

The eyes;

the color of coffee and tobacco dried

Brown like the dirt;

Earth blue like the tears cried

Skin smoothly glazed in the days of sub tropic sun

Hair;

dark black and full of mystery

Face of the elders wrinkled containing all the history

To be passed down to eyes beholding humility

Away from the market place; the elegant elite

Consumer shores of scores of stolen profits, slaved prophets

And now home to president puppets

All this is passing watch it pass

Passing in the afternoon on the block

Swings still squeak as children play hide and seek

And I try not to disturb the status quo of the flow of life here

Just observe the words of tongues and share some insight

Of sun, moon, and starlight

Oh to be a poet in the land of enchantment

To capture the beauty of woman on parchment

All on a Sunday afternoon in Nicaragua.

YO BESO TODOS EL SOL SE PONE

YO BESO TODOS ESTRELLA IN LA NOCHE

PINTO LA LUNA IN EL CIELLO

PINTO LA LUNA ROJO

TODOS PERSONA EN EL MUNDO ES A ARTISTA