Michel Sanon -ένα συγκλονιστικό ποίημα για την Αϊτή και την Αϊτινή επανάσταση

Haiti the rebel

Who is to tell me when

To celebrate my history?

Who is to tell me

When to dress my wounds

And to reminisce

My trials, my sorrow

When to shed tears

Over my brave children

And to glorify their names?

They suffered and died

Every bloody month

Of the bloody year.

I was born

Of abject inhumanity

With the noble destiny

Of carrying the sword

Of precious humanity

In a New World

Cursed by the West Storm

And raped by the powers

Of greed, wickedness, and death.

I am the mother of martyrs

Of survivors and overcomers.

Alone, I faced the wrath

Of this world's powers

In March of 1802.

Their mighty venom

Could not cripple me.

I stepped on the snakeís head

In May of 1803

And created for ever

The symbol of my pride.

How many now really know

My history?

How many care?

Alone, with my hurting hands

I broke the first link

Of the mighty chain

Of human curse

Called slavery.

Alone on the traitorous hill

Of the New World

I carried the cross of a race

Into this century

Of furious revolution

And industrialization

Refusing to get crucified.

I've been chained

I've been robbed

I've been raped and stabbed

And I have fought back

Fearlessly, continuously.

Alone I have paid and paid.

I have paid the senseless price

I have paid the endless price

For my vital exploits.

Humanity at large

Enjoys the benefits

Gratelessly, pompously.

Every bloody month

Of every bloody year

I have fought constantly

With a burning spear

Stuck in my chest.

Sometimes it weakens me

But I always rise

High above the pain

And the wickedness

Of powerful forces

From near and far

To claim my dignity.

I have friends

Who suck up my blood

When tired I fall asleep.

They set my house ablaze

To scare my children away

From my wounded heart.

Though today I choose to stand

And stand in pride and love

With my dear family

To celebrate in harmony

Our common history

In the month of February

I was alone when in Vertières

I rose to face the Devil

When hell broke loose

Unleashing its fire storm

With waves of flame rushing

To engulf me whole...

Alone in the vast universe

I froze hell over

And walked on its ashes

To create my own history.

Nobody stood by my side.

I alone remember.

It was the eighteenth day

Of a month called

November.

Michel Sanon

----------------

Σημείωση: 18 Νοεμβρίου του 1803, η τελευταία μεγάλη μάχη προς την ανεξαρτησία των Αϊτινών που συνέτριψαν τους Γάλλους εισβολείς)

Σημείωση δεύτερη: περισσότερα ποιήματα θα βρείτε εδώ. Αυτά τα ποιήματα με έχουν σοκάρει, πραγματικά.