Sunday, July 1, 2018




We have seen children with weeping bones
all memories lodged in paths of flesh and blood
children with broken hands, broken smiles, broken souls
as broken as the word “P E A C E”!

We have seen children with dead eyes
looking at the dirt in which they rest forever now
forgotten maybe in a tomb with no name or flowers
but present in a picture taken by someone

We reach for that rage that comes from inside
an indignation that becomes conscious
attached to strings of unavoidable tears
and a poem gets written as solitary hope

Where do all the tortured innocents rest after all?
On the walls of civilization as a portrait perhaps,
another history book so we remember wars?
The cold stare of those that kill them to gain power?

Could it be in the memory of poets screaming
"Silence is a crime too!" , every time a child dies,
as if the whole world would really listen
embracing together against all evilness

A bird amidst shells and cries,
you will plant flowers over the sores of blood!


dance with me to the beat of love
where a memory hangs over a cloud
and whispers secrets to the night
calling to the moon to look at us
naked bodies on the sand
romancing a lurid waltz
turning all silence into passionate cry
tongues sealing our salt
twirls of flesh tied in one
ancient desires blushing anew
on the warm carpet of tiny crystal roses
bathed by tropical waves
lucid dreams romancing the mind
where only you can conceive
the power of your gravity
taking over all my fire
until finally subdued
into pulsing


always on a thursday
something about it,
blows own eyes away
a caged bird
but the door pleases out,
the swiftness of other hands…
backdoor histories
rocking alive,
full blast transparency
summation of memories
keeping two words,
needles prick
the love protagonist,
faith bleeds


Free myself of isolation chains
all obscurity surrounding my mind
the walls that deny existence
open now the entrances of liberty
let me be a self beyond the curtains
that blinds all light, dampening the spirit,
for a bird is about to die!

I will gladly hide my soft curves
while the fresh air hits my face
with the flavor of danger
the sting of manhood
ruling the world.
*bacha posh – dressed up and disguised as a boy.
Refers to a cultural practice in which a daughter is sent off into the world as one of the boys.


the written recollection
of your deepest voice
parchments of passions
tied to the salt of time
sacred longings
pulsing my veins
as refugee of love!

the echoes of the mezuzah’s
prayers are heard
deep within the beating cave
of my heart,

yet bounded to

the shadows of the nights
forging a spear of light
when i seize both
your hands
to submerge in a
ritual bath…


LUZ MARÍA LÓPEZ is a published poet, narrator, editor in chief, translator and cultural promoter from Puerto Rico- Caribbean. Is Continental Executive Director for World Festival of Poetry (WFP) and World Poetic Front for Defending Women’s Rights (WM). Is recipient of the Kathak Literary Award 2017 – Dhaka International Poets Summit (Bangladesh).

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