A Curse of Conscience

Curse

by Pablo Neruda, Translated by Donald D. Walsh

Furrowed motherland, I swear that in your ashes

you will be born like a flower of eternal water

I swear that from your mouth of thirst will come to the air

the petals of bread, the spilt

inaugurated flower. Cursed,

cursed, cursed be those who with an ax and serpent

came to your earthly arena, cursed those

who waited for this day to open the door

of the dwelling to the moor and the bandit:

What have you achieved? Bring, bring the lamp,

see the soaked earth, see the blackened little bone

eaten by the flames, the garment

of murdered Spain.

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