Fire Kindled In Me Poem by Emmanuel George Cefai

Fire Kindled In Me



The fire is kindled in me
And I go out to
The fields
The night is peeling
Off the dusk
The waters restless
In their violence.
Where be the cows
That mooed during
The hot day?
Now it be not so hot
A cool wind blows.
Only
That there are scents
Of
Blood in the air
Savage contending
Rivers
Ready to flow red.
Las aguas inquietas
por su violencia.
En caso que las vacas
caliente durante el día?
Ahora, para no ser un
frío viento sopla.
Sólo
que hay aromas
de la sangre en el
aire
sosteniendo
los ríos Salvajes
dispuestos a flujo rojo.
The waters flowed
The waters flowed
At night
In mad disappointment
In a heart attack
In an apoplexy
The waters flowed and
They were red
Even in the new light
Of Day and Dawn.
The water ay! The waters
Mirror of my face.
II

Blood, blood, blood
The passionate shepherd
Called
The passionate warrior
The passionate soldier
The trembling man
Waiting his execution
Destiny and disaster
Combined
To draw blood
In the early morning hours
They will take them
Face to the wall
And they will fall
Like sacks
At the sound of the bayonets.
Face to the wall.
Face to the wall.
The erect Poet Seer
Captures the sights, the sounds
The miseries of the low,
And gives them status.
Hay un
ritmo apasionado por todas partes en estos versículos.
¿Cómo no va a serlo?
Se derrama la sangre
hirviendo, mientras que
inquieta.
O Earth
O Mother Earth
O Mother

III
There is a passionate
Rhythm everywhere in
These verses.
How cannot it be so?
blood is being shed
Boiling, while
Restless.
There is a tango between
The passing hours of
Night
The head jumped as
The masked figure
Cut if off
I saw the blade
Shining in the moon
Screaming.
I heard a shout
Trembling meat and
Flesh
Then silence of injustices
Then
Silence of the dispersion
Of fundamental rights:
The bodies fall as sacks
Into a dug common tomb
In the soil by the wall
Graves dishonored
Sacrilegiously
Cruelly unnumbered
Sacrilege.
Los cuerpos caen en sacos
en una tumba común excavados
en el suelo por la pared
fosas comunes

sin numerar deshonrada cruelmente ultrajada sacrílegamente
un sacrilegio.

Thursday, May 17, 2018
Topic(s) of this poem: passion
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