Brother Dog

LUIS ANIBAL SANCHEZ

In the enormous tragic silence of the night,
Francis, the monk of Assisi, with sunken eyes
of immense tenderness, caressed the white
body, the snow-white body, of a poor dog that
died in the war.

To that body, which had no soul, but which felt
much, loved much, suffered much, Francis has
given a tear and infinite pity.

Francis has wept, while afar nations made war.

It is the apocalyptic hour. Humanity is condensed
into one long shriek. Hate asserts its supremacy.
The great red cataclysm sows earth with tears
and blood; tears of a child and of the beloved,
and ancient crystallized tears of the venerable
mothers who weep in dark alcoves where the
cat whines sybaritically without knowing why.

Before the white body of the poor dog slain by
chance bullets, the divine Francis wept.