He Took a Knee

HE TOOK A KNEE

“He took a knee and for that he was treated like sh…t.”
Don’t say anything. How dare you? You don’t want us
The owners to deny their fee. Don’t you remember …
Where they came from? From the sh…t –hole countries.
Just for that they don’t deserve any respect…

And so it goes a litany of complaints from those
Who have it all and yet play with the players
As the cat with the mouse at the chasing stage
Always teasing to let go while holding tight
You are mine and with you I’ll make as much
As I want out of you cause you’re also a mine.

What on earth all that comes from? After all,
We are in the land of the brave and the free
Where everyone can speak their mind,
However for blacks it must be clear, for real,
don’t do it here, do it away, not so near…
in the rear, where we don’t see you so clear.

And in your own time; don’t waste ours
Don’t ask for what doesn’t exist. You
don’t have any right to complain for other’s
pain, don’t U forget; if you are here is on us.
You did not earn this. We gave it to you…
We have been so good. We are the masters
The children of god who is white, not dark like
You– disgraceful, distasteful, deceitful creature…
Unlike us, just forgetful, and who cares about that?

Yes, we are the ones who made you sad and bad
Working for us, for as long as we want what about
Since we capture you through the colonial times
Up to today, with no pay other than the chain …
The hunger, the humiliation and the pain.
You’re ours, you still are, what’s there for us
to regret? We still own you, and buy you
and sell all the heck we want, your image,
you strength, your submission, your ass!

You made us rich, while you got dead trashed…
By us, we are so bad, it’s been fun, it still is
To run after you with a gun and shoot …
No questions asked !!! Whether you are guilty
or not, who cares? It’s been like that for a long time
Up to the 1800, no voice, no land, no vote, the worst jobs,
if anything at all: No mule, no reparations…
Segregation, denigration, humiliation, starvation…
If we continue to tell your story, they’d not believe us
But we’d blame it on you, “if you are not rich is your fault
You did not move your ass to be rich like us, who
Took the Indians land and salve the African man.”

Now let’s make a revision to see if they are right:

Is your voice really heard by those in power? The rich
The masters, who take your gesture as defiance
When you loudly speak your outrage in silence.

While bending your knee to signal humbly you
Don’t agree with the injustices many of us know
your people have gone through, always, they took                                                                         you as a threat, a lie, and an insult. Never to see                                                                             or hear your voice saying, “Something is not right!
And I cannot stand to celebrate that!”

For the brothers and sisters who have died many a time
in vain and pain, resisting with a bullet in their backs,
or a broken neck, while they dared to say it was you
who inflicted it upon yourself. How stupid they are.
Bleeding bodies badly bubbling from a brutal barbaric
policeman’s shot in the street and why not in their homes,
in the backyard of those who work hard and did not care                                       to be commodities of meat markets like the NBA or the NFL.

For those who are still around us and bleeding in their hearts,
All those despised so much today…despite the slavery raid.
For those who have not sold themselves; for the fallen ones
Right now, right here, hoping you do it with me: I also take a knee.

Publicado en: Poemas | Agregar un comentario

No he sido yo

El hombre saltó al tiempo que se cubría los genitales con las dos manos. La gente que lo rodeaba se movió hacia atrás, golpeando sin querer a sus compañeros de viaje en el destartalado autobús que los llevaba a sus respectivos sitios de explotación.
“La muy perra” chilló–mientras se incorporaba y se acercaba hasta la cara de una mujer que sentada cerca de donde él estaba, lo miraba con cierta cara de sorna. Las manos de los pasajeros se dirigieron casi simultáneamente a cubrir sus bocas que exhalaban un AHHHH ante la acción del hombre que intentaba bajarse los pantalones.
“¡Me ha chuzado con algo! Quiero que vean que no miento. Quiso arruinar mi hombría.” Asesaba con furia, mientras seguía manipulándose la ropa para mostrar su herida. Pero nadie quería verla, y así, con gesto dolorido por el rechazo y la punzada en la entrepierna, se encogía para mirar con pesadumbre si entre sus piernas había sangre.
“Si me ha marcado usted lo más preciado que tengo en la vida” (las manos sobre el pene); y peor aún,… si estoy sangrando…!” Su dedo en el entrecejo de la acusada y la furia en sus palabras que no se hizo esperar:
“La voy a matar! ¿Quién se ha creído?” Gritó el hombre.
Unos segundos antes, todo parecía normal. El bus transitaba por las calles maltenidas de una ciudad caótica e indolente que parecía ajena al diario acontecer de sus automatizados ciudadanos. Llevaba entre saltos y frenazos, y el mayor descuido posible de su conductor, una carga que parecía más de bestias que de seres humanos, los que no se manifestaban ya, por no tener nada más de qué quejarse—y estaban muy cansados; y como desensibilizados.
“¿Qué pasa?” dijo el conductor mientras se iba deteniendo de mala y brusca manera al subirse al andén resquebrajado que daba entrada a un lote vacío, lo que le daba la posibilidad de no atascar más el tráfico estítico de la indigesta ciudad. Su brusca salida rompió la parálisis en que estaban todos mirando a la pareja en conflicto. La mujer se levantó para intentar bajarse aprovechando que el hombre seguía agachado mirando entre sus piernas para ver el rastro de sangre.
“¡No se va a salir con la suya!” le susurró a la mujer mientras la detenía.
“Ella fue quien me hirió,” insistía agarrándola por el brazo y con fuerza obligándola a permanecer dentro del vehículo ya detenido.
“La señora no ha hecho nada.” Se paró a asegurarlo el hombre que había viajado a su lado.
“He venido sentado junto a ella desde que se subió, y no ha movido las manos de su canto.” Continuó mientras el agraviado hablaba por encima de él diciendo:
“¡No sé cómo lo ha hecho pero que me ha clavado algo, les puedo mostrar la sangre.”
“No, gracias!” gritaron en coro varios pasajeros volteando sus rostros en dirección opuesta.
El pantalón a medias, bajó un poco más. El hombre lo sostuvo a media pierna con una mano mientras con la otra trató de obstaculizar la salida de la mujer. Solo pudo comenzar a hacerlo torpemente, ya que quería detenerla a toda costa, cuando sintió que su pantalón se caía hasta el piso y que no iba a poder correr tras ella con esa prenda amarrada entre sus pies. Y mientras se vestía y se quejaba: “tan pronto me pueda mover, verá quien manda aquí la muy cabrona!” La mujer ya fuera del bus, rodeada de una masa de curiosos que se agolpaban mirándolos, tan incrédula y sorprendida como los que había quedado dentro, exclamó seria y circunspecta:
“Hace 8 días me hizo usted algo parecido a lo de hoy. ¿Ya lo olvidó? Me clavó su miembro duro y caliente en las caderas, cuando en este mismo bus que iba más lleno, Ud. se aprovechó del ajetreo, de la proximidad a mi cuerpo y del miedo que vio en mis ojos. ¿Tampoco se acuerda que hoy fue usted quien empezó a restregarse contra mi hombro? Le dije un par de veces que se retirara y hasta lo empujé con el hombro, para nada. Es más, me susurró al oído que le gustaría clavármelo; que si no era acaso eso lo que yo quería. Y, como lo ha sentido, usted fue quien se lo clavó. Yo no tengo la culpa que a mi modista se le haya olvidado algún alfiler hoy cuando fui a su costurero. ”
Y, después de una breve pausa agregó:
“Dígame ahora, en serio, ¿quién debería matar a quién?”

Publicado en: Cuentos | Agregar un comentario

“The personal is political:” A Maxim that Has Become a Minim? (*).

De gota en gota, lleva el agua la fuente a la mar.

De gota en gota lleva el agua la fuente a la mar.

Pondering over what I should write about, it came to my mind something which I’ve been mulling over for a long time. And I asked myself, What ever happened to the old feminist movement? I don’t talk about Women’s Studies Departments, which work hard within academia. I’m more concerned with the movements in the public sphere, here in the U. S. and in countries where the discrepancies between genders are even more acute and the conditions of women have only better in as much as women have worked hard to change them.
Certainly, the states have not and are not always providing conditions to help women improve. On the contrary, with the economic crisis of the neoliberal economy the outcome for women is tragic, as they become—once again, the only source of food, love, and strength for many to survive and move on; this time in worst conditions, though. They are faced with the double burden of working—as they are favor these days in the sweat shops for the low wages they are paid, and in the cases where there is no husband–the only one to care for the children. And it’s harder every step of the way. Many are dying in the process. We just need to read any recent study on women’s condition around the world to see that. Let’s remember that women’s rights around the world are an important indicator of the well-being of the planet.
Women have not been passive bystanders of the crisis. Some of the gains of women after several decades of intense work have been their increased visibility in the public arena as members of the labor force and spokes persons within their communities; their life expectancy went up by nine years in areas absent of war, occupation, and lack of medical attention; fertility rates have decreased in areas of highly educated women and/or women on middle class committed to change; levels of schooling went up and illiteracy went down also in areas of richer, and more openly democratic and egalitarian governments.
In most Latin American countries, however, most women still work primarily within the informal sector, do not receive equal pay for equal jobs, do not have much legal representation, and have a very small presence and influence in state policies and decisions. They receive less than half of the profits national and/or private even if they work harder than their male counterparts; last but not least, their personal lives are still entangled with the responsibility of raising children and maintaining certain functional order in the home.
It seems that this postmodern condition we are in does not allow people to join one single specific movement as we are surrounded by a myriad of cultural practices, creeds and ideas that speak to the idea of “each one of us sees the world differently—no consensus!” Each movement only consents a partial, biased knowledge of reality. Moreover, the notion of circularity and indeterminacy carried over by the critique of language within postmodern theory is implicit in the actual lives of people. The fast pace at which many people live today and the millions of things available to “capture” life differently, do not seem to leave room for a serious understanding of reality, much less for a commitment to change it. The new motto seems to be ‘everyone for him or herself.’
All of these seem to leave women’s movements with no much to do to attain some of their liberating goals. To imagine that women will reach a relatively unified, worldwide and comprehensive movement that fights for most women’s rights is almost impossible. Small fights that will lead to small gains will continue to work for them, I am sure. Strategically, they should unite with the only other two big movements that can reach international and universal appeal: the fight for human rights and for environmental issues.
Language and discursive practices have helped women create consensus around their political actions. Perhaps is in the words of women and in the power of their dialogue that we may create an answer. We need to continue talking and working with the cooperative power that characterizes us. Redefining symbolic power—along with structures and practices, as if reconstituting the subject hood of female individuals, and with that the notion that the feminine is absence, lack of power, silence. So as to show that we don’t want to be the dominating force but the guiding one, and without minding that something that once was a driving force—thus becoming a maxim, it’s perhaps today just a drop that if merging in with the strength of millions more can get to be the waterfall that washes away the nonsense of ignoring the need of a feminine side to the human kind and with it, its survival.
_______________________________________________________________________________________
(*)Minim: A unit of fluid measure equal to one sixtieth of a fluid dram, 0.0616 milliliters, or approximately one drop.

Publicado en: Ensayos | Agregar un comentario

Hambre

Hambre

El hambre no tiene color

Han quedado sus ojos
huérfanos
del color de las frambuesas
y su olfato anhelando
el dulce canto de la piña
en su más sentido coro
de música del gusto
venida del alimento
que la tierra nos da.
Pero ya le han quitado
ese placer del comer
que muchos heredan
sin pensar cómo es
esa única manera
de no creer y probar
qué es un  plato vacío
el que norma no es.
¿Qué hice yo?
¿Acaso es mi pecado?
¿Por qué he de ser
Yo quien sufre?
Yo no pedí ser traído
al mundo, ni sabía
que pudiera ser así.
Además, siempre que tuvo
se alegró su bocado lleno
poblado de luces y color
con una risa bañada
en caramelo, ahora amarga,
bajando por un vientre
vacío,descarnado, pegado
a las costillas, cuerdas
flojas que el hambre distendió
Y han salido los monstruos
de sus  miedos que se tienden
al sol de su quejumbre,
guindando de los pies
como hueso sin carne.
Arrastrando su espíritu
por calles desangradas
del odio de los hombres.
Y no pudo aguantar
ni el liviano peso
de su propio ser
cayendo silenciosa
con un grito estentóreo
venido del dolor en sus entrañas
uno que solo los famélicos
saben reconocer.

Publicado en: Poemas | Agregar un comentario

Engaño / Decepcion (bilingual Spanish-English)

ENGAÑO

Tú–regalo de los dioses
(o así lo quise ver),
viniste a mí, tal vez
yo te encontré, y mi
mundo para siempre cambió.

Tú–jardín lleno de flores
(así lo viví yo),
una luz, un canto que
meció mis sentidos . . .
Me mostraste senderos
que nunca recorrí.

Tú, milagro del amor
(así te percibí),
me envolviste en las
mentiras de tu bondad
y falsa paz. Tuve fe,
y en la trampa caí.

Tú me hiciste creer
Que tu llegada había
Traído el amor que
Yo esperaba—y así
acepté ese pacto
que sólo trajo
penas y dolor …

Tú—bellaco mentiroso,
empañaste mi paz!

DECEPTION

You–a present from the gods
(that’s how I took you)
You came to me,
Perhaps I found you
And my world
Was forever changed.

You–a garden full of flowers
(or so I thought)
A light, a song
That rocked my senses,
Playing with the
Very core of my illusions.
You–a miracle of love
(that’s how I saw you)
You made up stories
Of your kind nature
And a generous heart
I did not see.

You made me believe
That my life was filled
With true love, at last
Or so I chose to accept
What was just a cruel
Game of lies and pain . . .

You–deceiver, liar, thief
You took away my peace!

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Incertidumbre

INCERTIDUMBRE

Hoy
más que nunca,
quiero una
respuesta
corta pero
sustanciosa;
que parezca
abarcarlo todo,
pero que vaya
directamente
al grano.

Una respuesta
inteligente,
profunda
y a la vez
sencilla,
que me resuelva
de una vez por todas
esta angustia
de no saber
qué nos está pasando!

(English translation below.)

UNCERTAINTY

Today
More than ever,
I wish an answer
That is short but
Substantive;
That appears
To cover everything
But that goes
directly
to the point.

An answer
Intelligent,
Profound
And at the same time
Simple,
That resolves for me
Once and for all
This anguish
Of not knowing
What is happening to all of us!

Publicado en: Poemas | 1 comentario

El Bicentenario de la Independencia

Bicentenario de la Independencia

I published this almost 9 years ago. Things have only gotten worst. I will work on a revision to incorporate what has happened in the years after that.

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CONFUSIÓN

“En palabras de la abuela, cuando tuve su tutela.”

¿Cómo nos pueden
hablar así del mal,
si el bien no aguanta
en casa del general?

El que tiene bienes
convence a otros
que su puesto de jefe
del cielo viene.

(Aunque no aguanta
la soga del ahorcado
en casa del que habla
del buen mercado.)

Dicen que es neutral
y no peca de avaro,
el político que hubo
su lote de lo robado.

¿Es este mundo loco
en el que habitamos
un infierno que alberga
sólo desengaños?

O, ¿Es el dolor causado
por desamparo, regalo
de un padre creador
que nos ha amado?

Y ¿cuáles son las gracias
que nos adornan, si …
además de pecadores,
el diablo ronda?

Publicado en: Poemas | Agregar un comentario

Naomi Klein. “The shock doctrine” (documental)

No puedo creer que después de tantos años estudiando la situación de America Latina, me vengo a enterar que Milton Friedman estuvo envuelto en el “experimento chileno.” Gracias a Naomi Klein por su trabajo.

Publicado en: Sin categoría | Agregar un comentario

The March of Scientists in Gainesville


Check and see from a better source the video by Noam Chomsky.
(My comments pale by comparison to what this brilliant mind has to say.) Here it is, nonetheless.
Being at the March of Scientists here in Gainesville, yesterday—Saturday, April 24, 2017—made me see that I was not so crazy, or somewhat alone, as I sometimes feel. Most people I’ve talked to within my circles, until recently, seemed not to have much interest in the state of the environment and its consequences. They preferred not to talk about it, responded with a “I don’t worry about it. I’ll be gone when things get ugly,” and even: “I won’t see it in my lifetime, so… or, “Don’t think about that; it doesn’t help. Besides, nothing can be done.” Or, “God is in charge, and/or Science will save us.” Or a combination of the two is the answer, or rather the explanation they give themselves not to act. Not knowing what’s going on, what can we do to slow down and make less miserable the debacle, remaining irresponsive and irresponsible or careless with how much we dump out there in terms of pollution, last but not least, denying that is imminent, that is here …Is only making things worst!!! We don’t have to see this as a moral question only—even though, as Dr. Christian Hedges puts: “It’s a moral imperative” to speak up and act to save the earth and us with it…It’s not just an environmental issue—it’s one of social justice (injustice, better) with our very own form of a peaceful existence. It’s the war of the corporations and its co-conspirators, against life itself. As they penetrate and dismantle the earth, sell the products of their rape (pillage, destruction) to the most valuable better. It’s as Dr. Hedges puts it: “Casino capitalism.” Value measured in dollars, not in lives, not in quality of life. Despite the coup-d’etat by the corporations, and the control exercised over peoples’ minds and wants, it’s just a question of numbers: WE ARE TOO MANY on the face of earth. Most wanting the same, sometimes unattainable goals: A house, a car, computer, etc…all to be renewed, tossed away or replaced by another 5 years or so later. Think about it–we are doomed if don’t do something soon, now! And most of us don’t care…Don’t give a damn.

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Haiku 1

Tarde apacible y brillante
de oro y plata, que intenso color
pasa un viento que suena rugiente
plumas verdes de gran esplendor.

Publicado en: Haikus | Agregar un comentario

Haiku 2

Rojo fresa, verde malva
la vida saca a lucir su color
cada uno nos cuenta una historia
todas juntas, ¡qué intenso sabor!

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Haiku 3

Horizonte de brillo turquesa
con intensos toques de marrón
el agua y el cielo se besan
en medio de ellos ha salido el sol

Publicado en: Haikus | Agregar un comentario