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Losing Our First Boat On The Caribbean Sea

The first version of this villanelle was about Syria, the Mediterranean Sea, and the tragedy that thousands of refugees dying in the ocean. Now, the same poem works for Venezuelans.

This trip is the only way to be free, Venezuelans are risking to cross frontiers the future is in Trinidad across the sea. Dozens are where a few fits. Last hope is this ship full of fears. A ship, it is the last chance to be free. Passengers pay for this trip. Freedom has a fee. Faces and skins have traces of tears, but the future is close; it’s across the sea. Starving, dizzy, blind. No place to pee, one day was the promise, but feels like years by suffering on this trip. The way to be free. Burning, obscure, undefined. They can’t breathe. Treated worse than animals, they are refugees. Is there any future across the sea? Water is coming. There’s no way to flee; Caribbean sea likes to eat refugees. This trip is a desperate way to be free. The future is under the sea.


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