The Masters

In the Governorate of Estonia, serfdom was abolished in 1816 (in comparison, in the whole Russian Empire it was abolished in 1861), however the land was not redistributed among the peasants and the corvée labor was preserved (until 1876). The American Civil was fought from 1861 to 1865, with slavery abolished by the Thirteenth Amendment in 1865. The poems if about the changing face of the colonialism.
We were the good masters,taking Christ and glass beadsto uneducated savages.Their lords became our henchmen.
The hostile tribesfelt the impotenceor hatchets and clubs.Back crooked, they waiting for usas if for hail, a thunderthey have never experienced.
We gave them cold,as cold is good.We taught them to readBible and count money,because these are good as well.We forced them to build houses,until cities sprouted.Plaza de Armas, Central Square –the castles and fortressesshowed our powerand the savages understoodthat these are good.
Their little castlesof palm leaves, earth and dung,thick logs, rocks and corrogated iron,modern blocks, aluminum, glass,roof tiles and drywallabsorbed our power.
The savages learned to write poetry.They used our alphabet to compose their epics.They too religion from us, and it was good.They took our habits and way of life,made wigs of Samson’s hairand held country fairs.
We, the masters, retreated.Our parachute menrose to Algerians sky and flew away.Dandellions had floweredand a rotting couch stood on the porch.
The the cicada could fiddleon their miserable folk instruments.A festival tramped on the memoryof our power.“Come back!” a Little Master called,and we went,leaving the chapels for bush and grass.
We ceased to livebut didn’t die.As an ivy we sucked the last strenghtfrom the old walls.In our stables they built restaurantsand the tribes fought as in the olden days.
We were the good masters,but the goodness did not maintain our power.We are tired,but we cannot leave.
We cannot call us the good ones,because savages are not bad any more.The peculiar pagan faithsare honored again.
So we hide the stuffed pygmysto the restricted collections of ethnographical museums.We send apologies to Central Africa.We bow our head in mouringsfor the Iranian nuclear scientists.We celebrate holocaust dayand demand Israel to recognise Palestine.We talk of xenophobia and privay policy.
Great American companieshonestly hintthe they are guilty of eating the bees.The tongue of Rolling Stonesis still swollenafter licking the honeyof the developing countries.
We call ourselver Westand West, it’s the light coloured people.Never trust a blonde.The blaze of evil blue eyesrises over Davos.
Our skiis have the powerwhen we slide down the hills.White hell, white kingdom.If we cannot be the masters of good,we are the masters of evil.
We tramp to the mudeverybody who tellsthat our Hitler was less or a bastardthan Stalin or Mao.We’re antifa just to maintainthe power of fascism.We buy canned foodfrom biomarketsand take an airplane to converenceto discuss climate change,caused by technology –technology, it’s us.
We are the bad masters,but we rule the world.We are tired,but not ready to leave.
The bigger our guilt,the more powerful we are.
No need for dumbbellsand educationto be a sexist pig.Your ancestry is enoughto be evil and strong.
The white master, walking on tiptoes –your flat musclesconceal an amazing power.Oh, white lady, prophessing trouble,a girl with history,you have seven billion children,who must obey to your wisdom.
It’s you who knows how to live.You’re old.Your the lady of the house.Your man is the master.Lips sticky with apple juiceyou talk of your guilt,bigger that the others have.
Plaza de Armas, Central Square –with alphabets learned from the mastersthe savages paint slogans there.
Plaza de Armas, Central Square –you, the savages, gulp the guilt of your masterslike stolen honey.Your tongues get swollen,but your chest if puffy of bride.You’re young,and you are not leaving.
You have seven billion children.