The Walls of My Old Cell
by Maria Guardado ( who was was kidnapped, brutally tortured, and left for dead by American-assisted death squads in El Salvador.)
If the walls
Of my old cell spoke
They would be loyal witness
Of my public petition
Against he squadrons of Death
Of my bloodied neighborhood
And the mercenary
who in the name
of the “Great Democracy”
A “media lengua” gave
the orders for my tortures
Bitter, Bitter
And I would say
that I only screamed
At the first of each one
And that my terrified screams
Were confused
With the screams
From the adjacent cells!
If those wall could talk
They would say that in my agony
I asked for water
And that somone with a satanic laugh
Responded “Here it is “
And there were blows from a gun
On my face!
Breaking and loosening
My teeth
For which I cry and miss
Imposing “placas”
Does it seem small
My brother, my sister
They dragged me
To a cold, cold shower
to wash off perhaps
The blood
That my body spilled
Before the silent walls!
That when they are stained
With blood
Democracy washes them
To say
In bourgeous courts
Here it is clean and tranquil
And nothing, nothing, has happened!
But Christ
That first comrade
Wanted that from the grave
I would rise
To ask you
Citizens of the United States
To come with me
To the U.N. to demand
That they send to the Hague
Those terrorists
For crimes against humanity
And have tranquility
On this planet
That is extinguished by them!
What sad truth
And the walls do not speak
But my body and my mind
have genuine proofs
As an example of that Holocaust
Of the offense
“Por tanto”, against our common enemy
Your solidarity and I
Will judge him
Even though they do not speak
A documentary
has been made about her life. She now lives in LA where she continues
her tireless activism. I took the photo of her last May at an immigrant
rights march.