Pedro Paramo

 

When you are left all alone,

You Search for your Father,

In Distant Lands

As per your Mothers Wish.

In this Journey back in time,

You Slip into the past to

Land on a Swamp of Memories  

Of The Living and Dead.

The Living murmur and complain,

The Dead Snide with the Past,

You Converse with Men, Women

And Empty Spaces Alike.

Relentless Winds Swirl Us Twigs,

Rain pelts Our puddles at each step.

Sun Vanishes like the Light of Our rooms.

The Moistly Smite Leaves Us Dry.

As you Open the Doors

Of the Ruined Ancient Earth and See

The Abandoned Houses and Things,

No One ever Came Back to take.

In their awe and Angst alike,

They tell you a Story of a Man,

Who made them Paupers and Beggars,

Man who wanted their Entire Earth.

Man who made their predicament must suffer,

Time has its Revelries of No Sensibilities.

Revenge of the Anguished Muted Rejoices

They Suffered, Alone, bearing and remembered,

When they Called Out for help,

Man Walked past their Cries,

Father Walked past to his Church.

God Walked past Watching it all.