Poetry from Daniel De Culla

Chubby Buddha figurines, two smaller ones on each side of a larger one. They hold parchments and apples.


Oh, how sadly I say it

Oh, with what pain I feel it

Let men be killed or murdered

Seeing very brave

With their rifles on their shoulders

Or their guns on their belts, or inside

And that crowd of plebs

Dancing with joy

Around corpses and ruins

Toasting with Don Toast

Caesar, King or Tyrant

Lords of War or Mr. Money

All over that heavenly court

Of Nazis, semi-nazis, bad guys

Priests or sacred gurus

Hunters and bullfighters

That did they know and know

What a shot or thrust is worth

Given on time.

Now as before

The criminal and murderer

Enter to slaughter

Thanks to the beasts that rule us

That, while they see the deaths

They suck or have their… finger sucked.

Why such hatred between humans

Similar to the hatred they have

That God and this Devil of ours

How much ardor did they use

So much effort

In which Adam and Eve curled up

In the Garden like dogs

Until finally

The bad luck of sex

He made them stay

Nudes outside the Garden

Covered with green masks

Their organs stunned

And breathless.

When going out into the world

Waking up from their false dream

Without stopping a point

Not wanting to return to the Garden

They met priests

Pastors and gurus

Hypocrites, obscenes, liars

Just wanted to catch them

To Adam for the member

Eva’s breasts

And a bonfire or boiling cauldron

What made them say to Eva:

-Oh, what do you want?

To Adam:

-What people are these?

-We come to cut the throat or kill

To burn or stew

If you Eva do not give us

Your carnal currency

And you Adam, your kind Anus.

Eva, as an intelligent woman

She told them:

-Man, Life seems kind.

I will give you twenty truffles

That I have stored inside me.

Adam, who was dull

And embarrassed like an Ass

He said nothing.

Everyone was satisfied

But the most Boss

Wearing a crucifix and collar, he said:

–Dead man never speaks.

Four fell on him

And they cut off his head.

The body was left jumping

And the same the head

Around that bonfire

In which Eve burned.

Don Toast was left in sad tears

Two caught him and tied him up

From the feet to the head

As if he were a pig

Which was what it was.

Bleeding on a table

Where all the heads saw him

Votive offerings from the damned wars

That were hanging on a beam

Half dead with laughter.

I remember one thing now:

That, in all wars

Only the bad ones survive.

-Daniel de Culla