Bonafide Rojas



bonafide rojas (10/08/77) is a poet, musician and author of pelo bueno: a day in the life of a nuyorican poet (dark souls press, 2006); has made 5 chapbooks: a day in the life, the brief history of, tragically beautiful, holler! & when the city sleeps (pt. i). he is the bandleader/vocalist/guitarist for the band The Mona Passage, a collective experiment of puerto rican & dominican musicians who challenge the status quo on what music is puerto rican & dominican.

he is the 2002 slam this! champion and has been on two national poetry slam teams, nyc/union square 2002 & wicker park 2003. he has appeared in russell simmon's "def poetry jam" season 4 and he has been published in the anthologies: bum rush the page: a def poetry jam (three rivers press, 2002), rolecall: "a generational anthology of social and political black literature and art(third world press, 2002), the centro journal (hunter college, 2001), blu magazine's puerto rico issue, columbia's roots and culture, nyu's calabash journal and was featured on the cds nuyorican dreams, yemaya y ochun, the freedom song and new skool poetics.


Year Of The Night


this year

is bitter

in mourning,

is vague

to know

your love

waiting for

a memory

to fall

from your

solemn body,

tired among

your night.


a crown

built around

thorns and

roses giving

birth to

peace with

your arms

stretching from

your beautifully

small body

a bitter

end to

the hours

that opened

full bloom.


our death

stood before

love's voice

behind the

walls that

fell, knotted

and dying

between shadows

and damsels

that drowned

in the

sea, crushed

by spectators

that watch

you with

under fed

eyes, survive


today's tortures

are so

old, extinct 

things here

have gone

cold and

love will

come with

the laughter

of crucified

clay by

foot and

dawn's death

will fall

later upon

the shine

of crying

mountains, remember


in drunk

days that

eat every

morning after

evening and

evicted fire

will envelop

over the

people for

hours, forsaken

prayers that

once were

in empty

jars from

ears that

went unnoticed

and became

resonance of

electric explosions

gathering the

static of

oceans and

perhaps purity

lies beneath

the skin

and in

happy broken

bandaged fingertips 


here near

the edge

I found

you, sleeping

by the moon

laying still

pure and


watching you

grateful for

our surroundings

our solitude

we live

submerged and

naked, arrived

with brilliance

that will

be celebrated,

we crave

guilt but

do not

sing revolts

we exist

but we

are lost


only when

you speak

to me

through weeping

water do

I respond,

holy fools

step to

claim their

fortune's pride 

now go

my dear

with drenched

face, tired,

sweat, bruised

your  body

is remembered

in winter

as purple,

and blue 

laughter left

to show

the gods

that you

still remember

the dead

and with

handfuls of

love you

sing songs

of young

wrinkles that

autumn will

long want

to take

home with


the youth

wear your

tattered clothes

in regions

significantly close

to countries

where the

sunlight reigns

I patrol

these bittersweet

bodies, insufferable

earths rotating

and we

shall find

our hearts

lost in

a forests

of shadows,

watching through

lonely windows


my dear,

their dying

is the

beginning of

our hands

whistling through

the earth,

their hearts

play soldier

with melancholy

envy and

scarcely survive,

they sob

and sing

alongside yesterday's

yellow truth

their sorrow

will sound

like claps

of thunder,

they hold

daggers of

silent oppression

their naked

with their

death and

have existed

with penetrating

the body

to be

a wasteland


we will

measure their

sorrows tonight

and after

the waves

crash with

high tides

we’ll find

someone to

win or

to lose

and they’ll

return faithful

and become

the heavy

monarch we

raise from

our dirt,

from our

feet up
raised in

our lightning

like firebug

ashes in

great kisses

of lovers

that speak

of butterfly

memorials and

solemn salvation

songs, and 

these multitude 

of songs

will defend

our love

and with

every moon

protect that

rises tall


this naked

body does

not rest

it until

we can

be together,

the bride

will extend

her twilight

to me

and all

will glance

many men

who tried

and failed

and they’ll

ask who

has wept 

among the

roses of


love and

stood her

fierce thirst
longing for

a trace

of born


to hear

such singing

is but

patience, there

is no

reason to

search, for

your wilderness

is here


pardon me

if melancholy

pity's my

life,  I

was a

prisoner of

her eyes

and in

solitude we

watched raindrops

stand on

both feet

sailing in

silence, sang

memorials beneath

my shadow

my body's

visitor, traveler

and I

ask you

can you

hear the

south of

my dreams

awakening dry

after you

unleashed such

sweet wishes

she tells

me what

happens and

in this

great century

this cemetery

of land

has become

blood born

butterflies from

nocturnal songs


we sit

in autumn’s

auburn mist

filled  with

feminine spaces

and a

great door

opened and

full of

men, women

that have

escaped their

skin to

become indefinable

and flash

under the

tailed mockingbird

moon that

memorizes their

dances and

race around

our hearts,

bodies, souls


the sex

of gods

rain down

on us

like a

thousand questions

and in

one night 
of starburst

will give

me all

the answers

was it

so sudden

the first

drop of

blood that

flowered oceans

has awakened

old days

to tangle

with pure

exiles like

the stars


there is

no place

greater than

that of

your space

so many

restless oceans

that are

alive in

the land

and these

minutes, we

be celebrated

each hour

that arrives

at the

heart of

us, is

the tender

melody of

your skin

so many

levels of

intense truth,

life is

too vast,

too violet

a  wine

to be

drank so

fast and

by the

ocean the

beauty of

both will

intoxicate us,

we will

not die

dressed in

the midst


respect the

tangling shadows

that dance

in this

delicious dusk

with songs

of wounded

lovers with

thorns struck

through the

iron of

our sleep

that pauses

the hunting

of our

earth, tomorrow

you step

on our

lands and

listen to

oceans unsullied


lost gods

walking on

sands, we

are supposed

to know

the twilight

and we

will inherit

her suffering

we've climbed

countries and

created passages

that will

survive in

our stories

with inexhaustible

shapes that

withdraws from

the nocturnal


her night,

full of

stars blare

forth everything

everything will

blow up

to the

heavens then

the hands

of  dead

will visit

spirits that

set free

those who

are closed,

those who

have lived

immense rushes

of gloaming,

they'll return

to her

night and

to a

shining winter,

they'll return

with us

and alone

like wind

in our

small hands


I will

not fight

gods but

have patience

and drink

their wine

yes soon

they'll see

where they

went wrong

and tomorrow

our daughter

will come

directly from

the hills

you gave

me this

love that

made me

suffer at

your breast, 

and I

rest my

heart, I

will be

by your

small hands,

I know

your  body

holds freedom,

you are

the  region

I once

crossed blindfolded

and waited

for your

arrival under

the tailed

mockingbird moon

that memorized

my dance

for you


this year

bitter in

mourning, vague

to know

your love,

I was

waiting with

with a

tired body

among the

fallen stars

then you 

arrived from

twilight's breath

long live

the night