Homeland

Homeland, not only do you not exist, but have never existed

Your figure is as deceptive as your people’s will

A proud line that divides us from the world—from the current of life.

A blurred image:

The mind of a metropolitan sees a mocking peasant

Barriers of the mind blocking up a sea of ideals.

A farmer passes as a mojado by the Lempa river

Without a bridge offering a comprehensive hand—

Without a civilized hand.

Those from the perfect city, so civilized!

So ‘superior’ to their brothers.

Bluish pride; love of the wealthy, and love of the poor

Your pride is a civilized river of crystalline water.

Stories of a dead fish;

The only hope in the middle of black waters.

Where there is no love, there is only putrefied rivers

Even if painted with blue and white,

Your cities have a putrefied river

The bodies—farmers and capitalinos—

Live like graves of a soul without place

A drop of water in a river of death.

Expelled from a homeland,

Without an occupational space

Without a place in the academia.

For not choosing blue nor white, without identity

For not laughing of the absurd, not comprehended

For never accepting the norm, despised

For having unproductive dreams, discarded.

I am not from the country, nor from the capital

I am from the river that connects to the world.

I am not Chalateco white, nor moreno of sunny color

I am a piece of mud spinning over and over;

Shaped by many hands,

And decorated with many colors;

Fragile and broken with violence.

The country and the city unified dominically

They look from their high stages and cry!

Pointing at a broken clay vessel

Mundane, sinner, stand up!—

Say the fishers of souls,

While the pieces of clay lie on the floor,

Dead.

Homeland, do not call me your son

I no longer belong to you

I am first mud, then blue and white.

I am first human, then Cuscatleco.

I think like a fisher; hence, I must be a fisher!

No matter what colors you paint yourself with—

Light blue, red, tricolor,

So long as you don’t live,

You will still be the land of the dead river.

I will continue to fish in the ocean of the world,

Looking for what you never gave me