¿Sin Voz?

Ayudame corazón
me dejó la vida
su linea está bien fría
pero todavía quemo
todavía quemo.

It’s not that they’re voiceless
I’m sick of them being called voiceless
It’s that we have no ears with which to hear them,
our ears of engrish & comfort
our faces of clean water
nuestras caras de agua limpia

From the door of the hospital where I was born it is only 25 miles as the 
crow or zipolte flies to the Mexican border
and it’s just a trick of politics & tricky fate
that I speak this spanglish with a gringo accent
instead of speaking engrish with a latin tongue
It’s just a tricky trick of politic 
that racism calls me pinche güero y gringo puñetero
instead of fucking beaner and greasy border jumper wetback
So this could be a poem of differences
about este güero aprendiendo
y el racismo por ambos lados
racism is dichotomies
but this isn’t that poem

Ayudame corazón
me dejé la vida

It’s not that they’re voiceless
It’s that sometimes their voices speak in a way that only eyes can hear
In the Huachuca Mountains that stand 
between my childhood swingset and México
One can go, if so inclined
up the incline of these dusty mountains that stand on the border
and see where the old hiking trails have swelled
under the worn shoe soles of restless souls, poor
They have crossed here in such numbers, through the mountains
because the US has built such walls & barbwire
as to make the flatlands no man’s lands
no woman’s land
no child’s land no more y nada más
These mountains strewn with discarded tin cans & plastic 
every one labeled en español, hechos en México
So this could be a poem about the mountains and their scenic trails 
strewn con la basura sucia, the trash of travelers
but between the suffering scenic views and the suffering of 
estos campesinos,
I know where I stand
So this isn’t that keep-the-dirty-Mexicans-out-of-our-beautiful-mountains 
bullshit poem
Nope, not that poem

me dejó la vida
su linea está bien fría

It’s not that they’re voiceless 
no me digas esa pinche mentira otra vez
It’s that sometimes numbers speak louder than verbs
60% of all 8 million illegal mexican immigrants living in the US crossed 
through Arizona
150 more than dead in 2003
145 dead in 2002
14 dead in a single december day 2003
130 degrees en el suelo del desierto
The average Mexican makes 4,000 dollars a year
How many did you make last year?
So yeah, this could be a poem of numbers
if numbers had faces
but above all this is not a faceless poem
ahorrita no y jamás

And so we wait for a solution
depending on which side you’re waiting
you’re either dying in waiting or just waiting
Immigration accords, 
beauty becoming blurry
the border becoming more blurry still, 
a border population that will double in the next 25 years
we wait
in the meantime
howbout this:

Just notice dark skin, 
even if its not working for you
Learn to speak Spanish, 
cause your grandkids are gonna speak it anyway
Listen with your eyes
Act with your heart
Put faces on numbers
Watch your tongue
and whatever you decide to do, just do not call them voiceless
They speak,
it is our ears that make the choice whether or not 
to hear a single word they say.