Wednesday, October 10, 2012

The Blood of Others

By Gioconda Belli

I read the poems of the dead.
I survived.
I lived to laugh and cry
and I shouted Patria Libre o Morir!
from the back of a truck
the day we enter Managua.

I read the poems of the dead,
watching the ants in the grass,
my bare feet,
your straight hair,
your back arched at the meeting.

I read the poems of the dead
Does the blood in our bodies that lets us love each other
belong to us?

Translated by Steven F. White


La sangre de otros

Leo los poemas del los muertos
yo que estoy viva
yo que vivi para reirme y llorar
y gritar Patria Libre o Morir
sobre un camion
el dia que llegamos a Managua.

Leo lose poemas de los muertos,
veo las hormigas sobre la grima,
mis pies descalzos,
tu pelo lacio,
espalda encorvada sobre la reunion.

Leo los poemas de los muertos
y siento que esta sangre con que nos amamos,
no nos pertence.

1 comment:

  1. I love this. I am a widower whose wife was a product of Nicaragua's upheavals. She was its most beautiful manifestation.

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