La Malinche
She rises up to the scaffold
As the city crumbles down
Her chest is presented
Put on display, for the whole
World to see, but never interpret
A girl with no name,
But a use, "The Interpreter"
They point and call her
But their laughs and scorns
Are too loud to hear the language
She's trying to speak
Then she runs into the forest,
Hoping for a bird to
Hear her song, but the
Net that captures her
Stifles her cries
Then, once she auditions
They hear how pretty
Her birdlike voice is
So she lands the role, and
She becomes their puppet
In the marionette play
She tweets and she flies
Their messenger dove
She searches to collect
The olive branches from
The Promised Land
So she flies to her
Canaan, where they sacrifice
To the god of the Sun
With their hardened hearts
Flying towards him
She searches for the
Olive branch, but
It is nowhere to be found
So she comes back, empty
In her beak, but with a
Song for her to sing
Then she comes back once more,
But forgetting about the
Olive branch, she climbs on
The scaffold and greets them
With her angelic song
But they scold her off
The stage, throwing their
Stones and spitting their spit
Then it dawns upon her head
Where the olive branch lies
So she comes back with
A branch in her beak,
And just as she begins
To sing, they clamp her
Mouth shut, and they dispose
Of her in the forest
As they are taking what
Had been their Promised Land
There she lies, bleeding,
Dying in the forest,
Losing her breathe
And she nears the end
Of her life as a parrot
She squawks, sings the song
Of a hummingbird,
And her heart begins to melt
With the final chord
Escaping her mouth,
The forest goes silent,
For no song as beautiful
As hers has filled the forest
With such angelic grace
Then the Son of God,
Shining like the Sun in
Which they've worshipped
Repairs her broken, torn up
Wings so that she could
Fly
And with her softened
Heart, she flies away
As a saintly dove, and
To the Sun becomes
One with, and the heavens
Get to hear her angelic song