Ah, America Latina,
Que eres como una mujer linda.
Pero estos hombres quieren más es tu cuerpo,
No tu alma, ni tus hijos que lloran hambrientos.
Ah, América Latina que eres mi única madre.
Perdona-me, pero mi papa es el imperio
Que prostituye las riquezas de tu cuerpo.
Soy la crÃa de la colonia y del esclavo,
La contradicción encarnada.
Perdoname mama, soy el producto de la impotencia
Del explorador que enfrentó
Aquello que lo explora.
América Latina, mitad de mi
Es la crÃa que agarra tus senos secos,
Llorando y implorandote por la leche
Que no tienes en tu pecho.
La otra mitad de mi es el niño
Con la panza rellena de codicia,
Que continúa a drenar y acumular
Las riquezas de tu tronco.
Perdoname, papa, mama,
Pero ya no puedo ser tu crÃa.
Tu polÃtica me pesa.
Entre vosotros dos,
No hay espacio para mÃ.
Perdona-me, pero no me interesa
Escoger un lado.
En mi pecho, ya no cabe
Ni el inferior ni el superior.
No soy blanco ni negro.
En tu historia, soy nada más
Que una anomalia.
Ah, Latin America,
You that are like a beautiful woman.
But what these men really want is your body,
Not your soul, nor your hungry, weeping children.
Ah Latin America, you are my only mother.
Forgive me, but my father is the empire
That prostitutes de riches of your body.
I am the offspring of the colony and the slave,
The encarnated contradiction.
Forgive me mother, I am the product of the impotence
Of the exploited who confronted
That which exploits them.
Latin America, half of me
Is the child that clings to your dry breasts
Crying and imploring for the milk
That you do not have in your bosom.
The other half of me is the child
With the belly full of greed,
That continues to drain and accumulate
The riches of your torso
Forgive me, mother, father,
But I can no longer be your child.
Your politics weights me down.
Between you two,
There is no space for me.
Forgive me, but I am not interested
In picking a side.
In my chest, there no longer fits
The inferior nor the superior.
I am not black, nor am I white.
In your history, I am nothing more
Than an anomaly.
Photo: Amanda Kerr (2016)
Poet Bio
Home?
The Earth What is home to you?
'Home' to me means much more than a geographical location or a national-cultural identity. Home is a process, it is something that is constantly growing and that we carry with us. It is a way of relating and creating meaning in the world.
Born into a Brazilian and English family, Nina Purton has trotted over the globe since the age of six, living and visiting many different countries. She is, essentially, nomadic by birth, and continues to be so. Travelling, engaging and learning from new cultures is constantly shaping and expanding her sense of identity. She strives to share and express this experience through art and writing, so that others may also enjoy the fruits of her vision.