Hijos y Hijas de Puta
(Poem)
hijos y hijas de puta, caramba!
not yet ended is the era
of fathers salvi, damaso and camorra
lamenting before european wooden saints
are the likes of pia alba, juli and maria clara
permit the hijas
to take artificial contraceptives
like the nuns
during the civil war in the sixties
in the former belgian congo
so should they be raped by soldiers
their bellies would not bulge a bit
though covered with holy cloth
but por dios por santo
que barbaridad, caramba!
you’re not a nun
you’ve been fabricated only
in the ovary of petra the horse
daughter of the indios
what’s your right not to be impregnated
by the holy ghost?
hija de puta!
the holy pope will get so mad
you’ll be cursed by monsignor sgreccia
like the kosovar women in the nineties
when at its height the war in serbia
hijos y hijas de puta, caramba!
let the semens meander carelessly
or do the lambada or samba
inside the mother’s ovary
till the baby cries
and the tot be sprinkled
with drops of holy water
hijos de puta, never use condoms
hijas de puta, never take pills
never use intrauterine devices
just wipe-out the liquid from the urethra
with the priest’s vest
and loudly recite the rosary
of our fathers and hail marys
the lad might be a belltower’s boy soon
calling for million devotees
to always fervently pray.
hijos y hijas de puta, caramba!
i don’t want to hear from you
the hyms of devotion and love
the lyrics of sorrow and despair
i could not contain in my hands
the waves of poverty in rural areas
the tornadoes of grief in urban cities
don’t slap me with the pallid moon
or blind me with billions of stars
hijos y hijas de puta, caramba!
just cover my whole body
with the easterly wind
while am holding vigil
on sad pitch-dark nights.
hijos y hijas de puta, caramba!
i don’t want to hear the chorus of ave marias
in the pulpits, altars and sacristies
just fill my ears with the cadence
of marching rebellious feet
on the cemented street of mendiola
just let me hear the hissing of bullets
and hymns of exploding bombs
my soul has long been incarcerated
bleeding from the lashes of injustices
we’re still slaves, hijos y hijas de puta
of the father salvis, damasos and camorras
we’re still monkies, hijos y hijas de puta
of the tafts, harrisons and obamas
we’re still slaves, hijos y hijas de puta
of exploiting capitalists and landlords
in various haciendas and factories of greed
we’re still prisoners, hijos y hijas de puta
in every bastion and fortress
of the rapacious ruling class.
hijos y hijas de puta
when blooming is the “talahib”
in the hills and savannahs
come over, yes, and gallantly struggle
hijos y hijas de puta, caramba!
let us join hands
like the wind and the sparrows
and with unity of purpose
on dewy mornings
or pitch-dark nights
while our blood simmers
and the fire blazes
amidst the sonnets
of lightning and thunder
hijos y hijas de puta, caramba!
let us tread the liberating path
for our freedom and glory!
(My English version of HIJOS Y HIJAS DE PUTA. The “talahib” is a tall, wild grass with white flowers when blooming.)
