HOPELESS NORTHEAST
My sleepy giant, laying in a splendid layer...
By your brunette fruitful ground, where planting everything grows up,
When will we can gather the revolts of your suffocated sons?
When the moan of the zombie-boys, dead by hunger, will wake you up of your sleep?
From the bowels of your womb explode powerful jangles and revier's sources
That don't reach your sons,
Screaming in the nights become older because of the incomprehension and deaf.
In hot sands and rocks they search their existences in perspiration.
Walking through the ways, with emeralds in their eyes,
They go to the far magnetic South, like revived ghosts.
By ghostly procession they build, one after the other, the concrete palaces
That will not keep them.
By their callus hands grows up bankrupted empires
Feeding the greedy monster.
And, into their minds, walled by walls and rocks
Of no culture and no knowledge, don't reach the flash
of the liberator alchemic.
They forge in pain and blood their survival,
While you flow your rich milk of your bust, gentle mother,
Into saturated foreigners bellies!
And with our tears, sterile, we rock your secular sleep, quiet,
Waiting your wake up!