What have I to say
Thou hope of the rising sun
What have I to show
As I stand before thy boisterous sea.
The sun still covers thy waves
With a peaceful sleep within its noisy rage;
Oh deserted places of habitation
Enough of the tears trickling down from
thy mournful drums.
I weep for thee because thy hands are
tied at thy back;
Indeed by thine very same are they tied
To suffocate at the watch of thy own:
Thy own rude work.
I see thee show thy waist beads to the
sky
Men in their youth I see
Without cutlasses in the planting season.
I watched and behold like an orphan thou arth
When thy parents still liveth.
As the bare earth blows freely thy
heirloom´s dust
And suck out thy bequitted nectar,
Thy gathering shall be like clouds
without rain
And oh wobbling feet, into shame
Thy gray hair´s crown will be brought
down;
But when thou leapeth thy best foot forward to embrace
May it not reap the whirlwind.
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