(Cont.d)if it’s poetry to sprout
a thousand hearts and arms
to squeeze wretched mothers
withered by time and suffering
denied milk in their teats
for their babes in arms ─
their skin and bones taut
against a breast parched for love
(wait, I’m about to burst) ─
then give me the power of words
so I’ll know I’m a poet ─
give me a firebrand ─
the wretched of the earth’s ─
in floodtides of voices and songs
brandishing their rags
brandishing their rags
steeped in tears and blood...
(1954)
(Translated by Justin Vitiello)