the night comes for us,

when mercenaries

scan palm leaves

for drops of blood

of martyrs. martyrs who

write poems about

the living. martyrs

left dead to the

pulses of the solo river

without a sound.

the night comes for us

as suharto flies turbo jet

bullets through the sky

as if timor could never

rest and if they rest then

kissinger cuts his molars

in washington restlessly

calling to some

lockheed factory in louisiana,

flat rate

express delivery

to indonesia.

the family of deer in the

presidential palace graze

on dirty money reserves

turbo jet bulleting from

the cayman islands.

the night comes for us.

the sparrows

silent witness

silent extrajudicial

bullets upon our dissent.

every worker is a fugitive under martial law.

the sparrows

continue their flight.

the night comes for us.

even in death

kissinger never

lets go of his choking hands.

if night surrenders

to moonlight,

we will hear the martyrs speak.