After ‘The Patriot’ by Nissim Ezekiel

El Patriota

José Cabrera

Ay que ver, aquí estamos todos
por paz y por harmonía,
pero qué pasa, qué ocurre,
que nos queremos separar,
y las uniones se desvanecen,
y lo que ayer era uno, parece que hoy son
               dos.
El mundo lucha, nuestro país también,
pero no será mejor estar unidos,
y permanecer fuertes, y entender que
la España que hemos creado,
tal vez no sea la que queremos demoler.
Leer las noticias da pena,
No hay alegrías, no hay cosas buenas.
Valoro todo lo que somos,
pero no entiendo, yo no lo entiendo.
Cómo hay alguien que mueve masas
diciendo quién es quién,
arrancando historias, e inventando cuentos,
Hermanos, hermanas,
qué éramos y qué somos,
qué era y qué es España.
Brindemos con vino
simplemente porque lo merecemos.
El sabor de la tierra que somos,
la tierra de donde venimos,
que nos vio crecer.
La paz de nuestro propio país
es cuestionable. ¿Y hablamos de
Marruecos? ¿Y hablamos de Colombia?
Y qué pasa con lo que hacemos nosotros.
Destruimos sueños.
Destruimos nuestra historia.
Me entristece y me hace pensar
por qué nos hacemos daño
y por qué se quieren separar.
Yo disfruto de la compañía de todos,
eso lo digo con certeza.
Somos amigos, somos hermanos.
Unámonos de una vez.

 

Jingtian Zong (Original)

房间里,只有我们俩坐在桌边。透过斑驳的窗户,可以看到乌云压住了楼顶。

三点了,我还在等。

她一边描着金丝雀,一边问我知不知道,还有一个小时就是今天雨最大的时候。

“是吗。”我说。

“是呀。”她说,“我特别喜欢下雨。雨天的时候,待在明亮的房间里会感到格外的温暖。”又笑着问,“你不觉得吗?”

暖黄色的灯光打在我脸上,我发现自己无法回应她的笑容。

我想问她:“你淋过雨吗?” 但我没有问出口。她柔顺的头发让这个问题显得多余又白痴。我突然感到了恼火。

“哈?”,所以我放大分贝,说,“我最讨厌下雨了。”

我知道她会问我为什么。她怎么可能从自己的壳里出来呢。

“没有原因,就是讨厌。”

我没再看她,而是看向窗外。樟树已经被淋成了深绿色,路人都行色匆匆。流水深沉又轻快,毫无保留地冲刷着脏污的城市。

我决定不再等下去。

 

Rain

Jingtian Zong (Translated, English)

Only we two were in the room, sitting by the table. Through the stained window, I can see the clouds pressing on the tops of the buildings.

It had been three. I was still waiting.

While sketching the canary, she asked if I know an hour later it would be the heaviest rain today.

“Is it.” I said.

“Yeah.” She replied, “I love raining. In a rainy day, staying in a bright room would make me feel particularly warm.” Then she asked, smiling, “Don’t you think so?”

Warm yellow light on my face, I found myself disabled to respond to her smile.

I wanted to ask her, “Have you ever stood in the rain?” But I failed. Her silky hair turned this question redundant and silly. All of a sudden I felt angry.

“Hah?” So I raised the decibel, speaking, “I hate raining.”

I knew she was to ask why. How could she come out of her shell, anyway.

“Nothing. Just hate it.”

I didn’t look at her anymore, but out of the window. Camphor trees had been wet, turning into deep green. All passersby were in a hurry. The running water was dark and lively, washing the smudgy city without any reservation.

I decided not to wait anymore.

 

11.9

Shirley Ariza

Instagram had showed me how funny he was
Facebook had told me how ridiculous he was
And I laughed along with the others
Those others who also believed this wasn’t real.
This isn’t real

“President Donald Trump”
Those words made everything tangible
That the tears wouldn’t stop
And my anger wouldn’t leave
The heart that had believed

And papi, who was getting his citizenship,
Showed up in my dreams at night
Entering an enclosed space
Ready to show his best to those no-faces
The no-faces that sit behind a desk
And decide the lives of the rest

Then there was mami who prayed for her husband
Cause she barely saw the man she married
When he played his role so well
“cafe” is what we jokingly called him
When we didn’t know why
His jacket always smelled of nes

And now when I’m writing this
I’m still trying to digest all that happened
And try to swallow
That this is real
This is real.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *