Mi tera ta un pais
di hérue di bròns
i misa merikanu,
di atrako na spañó
i flanè na ingles,
kaminda putanan tin nòmber di la birgi
i ku weter i kachó tin ku papia hulandes.
I tòg mi tera,
ta mi tera.
Mi tera ta úniko lugá
kaminda esnan k’a faya
den otro tipo di trabou
ta bira periodista,
polítiko òf predikadó
pa lusa nos kaminda
ku nan eksperiensha.
Pero asina mes mi tera,
ta mi tera.
I maske tur su palmanan
a bini den kònteiner
i su monumentonan
ta batrei sin bolo aden
pa dòrna fiest’i mandatario
k’a bin fo’i otro lugá
bin goberná ku regla kla
diktá te na Ulanda,
bisami. Kon mi por tribi ninga
ku ta mi tera e ta?
I si su muebelnan ‘i mahòk
a barka pa Oropa
i tur piská den su laman
ta biba bò’i kòntròl,
i si oroplanu merikanu
ta uz’é pa spioná
i tur su bukinan t’abrí
pa otro kontrolá,
i maske e ta poteká
na IMF k’Ulanda,
tòg, ta mi ter’e ta.
I si mi tera tin un lenga
ku bo n’ por siña na skol,
i si su leinan ta na idioma
di otro nashon skirbí,
i si su yunan pokopoko
sin sa ta korumpí
su poesia, su muzik
pa lusi i kompetí,
tòg eseinan n’ por stroba sí
ku den e kurason akí
kontra tur lei, tur lógika,
tur dia atrobe un krenchi mas,
mi tera
ta mi tera.
————–
In English —
My Land
My land is a country
of bronze heroes
and American churches,
of holdups in Spanish
and t-shirts in English,
where prostitutes are named after the Virgin
and to waiters and dogs one has to speak Dutch.
And yet my land,
is my land.
My land is the only land
where those who have failed
in everything else they’ve tried
become journalists,
politicians or preachers
to pave our path
with their experience.
And even so my land,
is still my land.
And though all her palm trees
arrive in containers
and her monuments
are empty husks of fancy cakes
to celebrate policymakers
who hail from other places
to govern with strict Dutch-made rules
Tell me, how dare I deny
that this land really is my land?
And if her traditional furniture
is now displayed in Europe
and if all the fish in her sea
live under a watchful eye,
and if American airplanes
take off from her to spy
and all her ledgers
are under scrutiny,
and even if she’s mortgaged
to Holland and the IMF,
this still remains my land.
And if the language of my land
is still not taught in school,
and if her laws are written in a language
that is not her own,
and if her children inadvertently corrupt
her music and her poetry
to show off and compete,
still, in this undeterred heart
against all law, all logical thought
but every day a little more,
my land
is my land.