而不是花朵，
从西班牙的每一根筋骨中
西班牙显出来，
每一个死去的孩子身上是一把长枪留下的眼睛，
每一场罪恶都生出一把子弹，
它们将在某一天
找到你的心眼。
你会问: 为何他的诗歌
没有谈及梦想和落叶
以及他家乡巨大的火山。
来看看街上的血。
来看看吧
这街上的血。
在街上!
here is an extract from a poem by pablo neruda,“i’m explaining a fes”:
and one morning all that ,
one morning the bonfires,
leapt out of the earth,
devouring human beings,
and from then on fire,
gunpoer-rings and duchesses,
bandits blessings ,
came through the sky to kill children,
and the blood of children ran through the streets,
enerals:
see my dead house,
look at broken spain:
from every house burning metal floes,
and from every dead child a rifle reat volcanoes of his native land.
come and see the blood in the streets.
come and see
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