~Che

~Che

A Poem by Katherine Wyatt

Those who kill their own children and discriminate daily against them because of the color of their skin; those who let the murderers of blacks remain free, protecting them, and furthermore punishing the black population because they demand their legitimate rights as free men " how can those who do this consider themselves guardians of freedom? ..  Che Guevara

 

Tell us Che,… when they found you that way.

no hands, now declassified by the CIA

their methodology for “identification”.as though

dead fingertips lose their prints along with their life force

… was it your revolution you were thinking of

or did the eyes of those you had shot down in Cuba

flash before you? Did you see their faces as you drew your final breath? 

 

Leader of a “revolution”

revolving… spinning ..

coming back to the place where you started,

 today people worship you

but for you it was a Dead …..end,

 all that brilliant intention

exquisitely articulated ideals

executed at the end of your M-16

written in blood

 penning words  that altered the perception of generations

with logic, and conscience, and bloodstained hands

 

Che the hero, Che….pulling the trigger as blood flows into the Earth

a shadow stain on the image of a legend

Che betrayed by Castro, into the hands of those dark alliances

made by powerful men with no soulspeak for “the People”

Che the rubric’s cube,

an anti-hero whose death was another sanguine stained pigment

on those he sought to eliminate

skeletons and flesh who took your hands as trophies

  they ....created you … created them….created you


Revolution.. ,,,revolving in circles, no door out

 photos of the open lid on the coffin

leaving exposed your mangled body

another CIA shame, no face claiming responsibility

   

 Ghosts leaving no fingerprints on the dead

 

 

©  Katherine Wyatt All Rights Reserved   2016 

© 2016 Katherine Wyatt


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A brilliant piece- once the hero of the people, revered and admired and now only a footnote in history. He who stood for revolution of the masses, justice and equality was as brutal, venal, a murdering beast and a hypocritical jackal , no better than those he railed against. But isn't that the case with all those who seek change at any cost..

He lived a bloody life and died a bloody death, alone disgraced and on the run. Your poetic profile of this enigmatic man was spot on.

When I was a young man and turned radical after I left the army, I admired him, even tried to look like him until I woke up and realized that the road to revolution is paved in hypocrisy and blood...

" Ghosts leave no fingerprints on the dead" damn, now that is a line for the ages....

my warmest
bob



Posted 7 Years Ago



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Added on July 14, 2016
Last Updated on July 14, 2016
Tags: sociology poetry

Author

Katherine Wyatt
Katherine Wyatt

New Orleans and Metairie, LA



About
I am the song the trees whisper in the wind. I am the strength of the mighty mountains. I am the song of the birds in the morn. I am always being reborn. I am a traveler in and out of space and time... more..

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