Eduardo Galeano Poems

 

 

 

 

Eduardo Galeano Poems

 

 

Fires

Each person shines with their own light

among all the others.

There are not two equal fires.

There are big fires and small fires

and fires of all colors.

There are people of serene fire, who don't even know about the wind,

and there are people of crazy fire, who fill the air with sparks.

Some fires, silly fires,

they do not light or burn;

but they burn life with so much desire

that you can't look at them without blinking,

and whoever approaches, lights up.

THE SYSTEM

The officials do not work.

Politicians speak but do not say.

Voters vote, but do not choose.

The media misinforms.

Schools teach to ignore.

The judges condemn the victims.

The military is at war with his countrymen.

Police officers do not fight crimes, because they are busy committing them.

Bankruptcies are socialized, profits are privatized.

Money is freer than people are.

People are at the service of things.

CHRISTMAS EVE

On Christmas Eve, he stayed up working very late. The rockets were already ringing, and the fireworks were beginning to light up the sky, when Fernando decided to leave. At his house, they were waiting for him to celebrate.

 

He made one last tour of the rooms, seeing if everything is in order, and he was doing that when he felt that some footsteps were following him. A few steps of cotton; he turned and discovered that one of the sick was behind him. In the gloom he recognized it. He was a boy who was alone.

 

Fernando recognized his face, already scarred by death, and those eyes that apologized or perhaps asked for permission.

 

Fernando approached and the boy touched him with his hand:

 

"Tell..." the boy whispered. Tell someone, I am here.

TRIP

Oriol Vall, who takes care of newborns at a Barcelona hospital, says that the first human gesture is a hug. After going out into the world, at the beginning of their days, babies wave their hands, as if looking for someone.

 

Other doctors, who deal with those already lived, say that the old, at the end of their days, die wanting to raise their arms.

 

And that's how it is, no matter how many turns we give to the matter, and no matter how many words we put into it. To that, as simple as that, everything is reduced: between two flaps, without further explanation, the trip takes place.

THE GLOBAL FEAR

Those who work are afraid of losing their jobs.

 

And those who don't work are afraid of never finding a job.

 

Who is not afraid of hunger, is afraid of food.

 

Motorists are afraid to walk and pedestrians are afraid of being hit.

 

Democracy is afraid to remember and language is afraid to say.

 

The civilians fear the militaries. The military are afraid of the lack of weapons.

 

Weapons are afraid of the lack of war.

 

It is the time of fear.

 

Fear of the woman to the violence of the man and fear of the man to the woman without fear.

 

Fear of robbers and fear of the police.

 

Fear of the door without a lock.

 

To time without clocks.

 

To the child without television.

 

Fear of the night without pills to sleep and the morning without pills to wake up.

 

Fear of loneliness and fear of the crowd.

 

Fear of what was.

 

Fear of what will be.

 

Fear of dying

 

fear of living

FEAR RULES

We inhabit a world governed by fear, fear rules, power eats fear, what power would be without fear without the fear that power itself generates to perpetuate itself.

 

Hunger breakfast fear.

The fear of silence that stuns the streets.

Fear threatens.

If you love, you will have AIDS.

If you smoke, you will get cancer.

If you breathe, you will have contamination.

If you drink, you will have accidents.

If you eat, you will have cholesterol.

If he talks, he will have unemployment.

If you walk, you will have violence.

If you think, you will have anguish.

If you doubt it will be madness.

If you feel, you will have loneliness.

THE FATHER

Vera missed school. She stayed locked up at home all day. In the evening, she wrote a letter to her father. Vera's father was very sick, in the hospital. She wrote:

 

—I tell you to love yourself, to take care of yourself, to protect yourself, to pamper yourself, to sit down, to love yourself, to enjoy yourself. I tell you that I love you, I take care of you, I protect you, I pamper you, I feel you, I love you, I enjoy you.

Héctor Carnevale lasted a few more days. Then, with the letter from his daughter under his pillow, he went away in his sleep.

THE GRAPE AND THE WINE

A man from the vineyards spoke, in agony, in Marcela's ear. Before dying, he revealed a secret to her: "The grape," she whispered to him, "is made of wine."

 

Marcela Pérez-Silva told me about it, and I thought: If the grape is made of wine, perhaps we are the words that tell what we are.

CRY

It was in the jungle, in the Ecuadorian Amazon. The Shuar Indians were mourning a dying grandmother. They wept sitting, on the edge of her agony. A witness, coming from other worlds, asked:

 

"Why are they crying in front of her, if she's still alive?"

 

And those who wept answered:

 

"So that she knows that we love her very much."

DEATH

Not even ten people went to the last recitals of the Spanish poet Blas de Otero. But when Blas de Otero died, many thousands of people attended his funeral tribute in a Madrid bullring. He did not find out.

 

With affection,

Ruben