His name meant forest,
His life cut short,
In his early sixties
Out of air.

Like the rainforest,
No more...
In spite of the need
For this global filter
Helping humanity to breathe.

De Silva, covered up with a blanket
With his feet exposed,
Was Allowed hardly space
On a crowded sidewalk
Marked with plastic traffic cones,
A narrow outline of a human body.

Life needs to go on, in Brazil,
With soccer nearby
As if denying this pandemic
Ever happened.
The poor first, next the colored people,
Then the familiar ones, us.
Not even the leaders will stay untouched...

They will make it, Screaming for
preferential treatment, only the best
Will be at their fingertips.
Trying to save them, from what?
From their ignorance? Their denial?
Their false sense of invincibility?
Trying to sound out their own fear,
While sacrificing others.

Brazil, May, 2020