He stands ever circumspect
On a top a cold cement block.
Never blinks upon the huge wreck,
Never moves his eyes of rock.
He seems to scream loudly,
Yet no sound could be heard.
Silence that struck deeply
The land that was ignored.
Edifices towered over him,
Keeping him shaded from the sun.
Interlaced roads run by its rim,
Yet looked upon by no one.
His bolo shoots upward,
Piercing nothing but the air,
Reaching to poke through a billboard,
Waiting for someone to stare.
A cloth on a mast, he elevated;
A bloody glow it emanates.
Behold the nation he liberated,
Land of traitors and apostates.
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