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It´s so sad how I started writing poems…

I remember that September day, when I went to school. I was thirteen years old. Everything was normal. I
had my classes and the teachers were talking a lot in very small groups. I wasn’t talking with them by then. I
had my very own problems with my classmates and they just didn’t help, so I didn’t ask.

Then, I left in the school bus. We used to listen the news, but that afternoon we just listened some music.
Not out of the ordinary, so I didn’t care. I was trying to think about who had put some decomposed food in
my bag, without damaging my notebooks (so lucky of me).

Once I got home I read the newspaper during lunch (a bad habit I’ve got). Then, I did my homework and
started playing at the computer. I didn’t watch T.V until seven o’clock in the evening. I was just changing
channels until I saw MTV. I was hoping for some music (I really like music), because the other channels were
just boring. It was seven and a half already. I saw a building burning and people falling. My first thought was:
“Wow, a movie at MTV!” But then I saw the lowest part of the screen. There it said ABC sometimes, CNN
other times. It wasn’t a movie. I didn’t know that many words in English but I could understand what there
said and what reporters were saying, sometimes screaming. The world was falling apart. There was an attack
back at USA in the morning, when I was trying to solve my high school problems. What a selfish girl I was!

- Grandma, wake up.


- Mmff... – She said, she was sleeping beside me.
- Grandma, where’s Isidro?
- Mf... What? – She was waking up at last.
- Isidro. Where does he work? – He was one of my cousins and the only one who lived in USA.
- I don’t know. I just know that he lives in New York.
- Call his mom. There’s been an attack there – I was so scared for him, but I tried to stay calm. She
knew about it, but didn’t tell me. When we called my grand-aunt, we realized the magnitude of the
problem. He was there, but she didn’t know where he worked either.

The next day we still didn’t know anything about him. We were so worried. Not even his wife called us. We
feared the worst. A week later he called us saying that he didn’t work there and that he saw it all from far
away. How far he was at the time I don’t know, but at least he was safe. That very same day I wrote my first
poem just minutes before hearing about Isidro. Here it goes.
Tercera guerra Third war

La paz es bella, Peace is beautiful,

La guerra es fea. War is awful.

Lo que más parece What it looks like

Es que vamos a perecer. Is that we’re going to perish.

Muy pronto tercera guerra, Soon enough third war,

Muy pronto que todos mueran. Soon enough die all.

Pensamientos ingenuos Naïve thoughts

De afganos enfermos. Of sick afghan.

Muy pronto tercera guerra, Soon enough third war,

Muy pronto salvación. Soon enough salvation.

Pensamientos bellos y feos Beauty ad ugly thoughts

De americanos en acción. Of Americans in action.

Muy pronto tercera guerra, Soon enough third war,

Muy pronto fin del mundo. The end of the world not far.

Pensamientos propios The very own thoughts

De una joven sin rumbo. Of a young girl without course.

This is the most accurate translation I can provide. I hope you understand the feelings behind. I was terrified,
until we found him. But still I was scared because those people, those new kamikazes, didn’t just kill
Americans. They killed people from all around the world and the little humanity we had and we’re trying to
get back.
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I wrote my first poem under these conditions, and it hasn’t been the last. But now, this day, September 19
of 2010, I celebrate nine years of writing poems. Not all of them about suffering. I have changed a little.
Nevertheless I keep writing.