Computer news : I'll probably have to buy a new one. Good thing my parents still owed me a birthday gift. A friend (who helped identifying that the problem was either for the CPU or the motherboard) left me a laptop at my home so I get access to the internet ♥ I have nice friend :)


Poetry : Remember that poem I was looking for the other day? Well, found it! (I had a link somewhere in the comments of my journal, hah!)

Our Father Who Drowns the Birds
In memory of Nicaraguans killed by the Contras, 1980-1990.
By Barbara Kingsolver

There is a season when all wars end:
when the rains come.
When the landscape opens its own eyes
and laughs at your talk of dying.
When all the dead trees
open their hands
to the sky
and bleed scarlet flowers
from their fingertips,
and then you remember, before the blood,
red was the color you loved.

There is a season when every ancient anger
settles, conceding
to water the grass.
When nights are split by the bright
electric voices of your ancestors,
and the ones who owned your ancestros,
calling to one another
between earth and sky,
and all of the old grudges
fall, one by one,
on the roof of your house
sounding so much alike
they lull your babies to sleep.
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