Patria Adorada

Lonely night:
my deaf country and my tongue's plea
are like water and oil.
I am an iron-barred nightingale
with anklechains,
with beakmuzzle,
with wingclips--
(destiny bound to the ground).

I saw impossible palm trees once
sprawled on sandy shores
like secret lovers waiting.
Then by sea there came DEATH
much like pasty men,
much like hasty men,
with Catholic swords on the shore
and foreign tongues that cried:
      Reclamo esta tierra
      en nombre del rey de Espana,
      y van quemar la isla diablos
      en el fuego caliente.

With cross-like spades
They planted Hades
on impossible palm trees' sorry shore.
And we the proud island anaks
fed our blood to their roots:
four hundred years
     of tear-filled tissues,
four hundred years
     of sweat drowned deaths.
ENOUGH...

My pen: my arrow
My memories: THEIR Achilles heel.
And though DEATH nails
my hand to my desk
there is solidaridad:
       Touch me not Espana!
       Touch me not Spain!
       Touch me not Catholicism!
       Touch me not pain!

Tomorrow begins mi ultimo adios.
Adios, Patria adorada.