28 February 2008

Marti and Bertone

This guy, this Prince, came from the land of Machiavelli to the land of Marti and smiling, he left the enslaved Cubans just the way he found them- between the devil and the deep turquoise sea. Wait, No. He actually left them worse off than he found them. He left them bleeding from a vicious stab in the back.

But that’s alright, we‘re used to bleeding from back stabbings by now. After a while, they don’t hurt, they just make you stronger and more determined.

Qué importa que tu puñal
Se me clave en el riñón?
¡Tengo mis versos, que son
Más fuertes que tu puñal!
¿Qué importa que este dolor
Seque el mar, y nuble el cielo?
El verso, dulce consuelo,
Nace alado del dolor

This is a man from the land of Mussolini, a land that once supplied all the Popes, until the Church figured out that they were all too good at heading the words of their most famous philosopher and his dogma of ruthlessness with a smile.
But we are the Children of Marti from where the palms grow and someday, hopefully soon, we will offer Bertone a rose that he can press in his princely bible of deceit-with a smile.

Cultivo una rosa blanca
en junio como enero
para el amigo sincero
que me da su mano franca.
Y para el cruel que me arranca
el corazón con que vivo,
cardo ni ortiga cultivo;
cultivo la rosa blanca.

1 comment:

Jungle Mom said...

I just realized you have me on your blog roll! Thank you!