Poem
Pedro Arturo Estrada
NO MAN’S COUNTRY
Blessed are those who lose all homelandfor theirs shall be the light of their own dominion.
But the homeland is no one’s when anyone
must deny it three thousand times before strangers.
The homeland has been seized in airports,
banks, multinationals, as uselessly wrinkled as the
valueless banknote that displays it; the homeland slowly fades
in the put-away photograph – crumbles away
with the scent of the last coffee.
The homeland is gradually left lying
on the streets of all the other homelands
to which we one day fled.
© Translation: 2010, Laura Chalar
PAÍS DE NADIE
PAÍS DE NADIE
Bienaventurados los que pierden toda patriaporque de ellos será la luz de su propio dominio.
Pero la patria no es de nadie cuando cualquiera
debe negarla tres mil veces ante extraños.
La patria ha sido confiscada en aeropuertos,
bancos, multinacionales, se arruga inútil como el billete
sin valor que la exhibe; la patria se va apagando
en la fotografía guardada – se deshace
con el aroma del último café.
La patria va quedando tirada
por las calles de todas las otras patrias
adonde un día huimos.
© 2006, Pedro Arturo Estrada
From: Oscura edad y otros poemas
Publisher: Universidad Nacional de Colombia, Medellín
From: Oscura edad y otros poemas
Publisher: Universidad Nacional de Colombia, Medellín
Poems
Poems of Pedro Arturo Estrada
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NO MAN’S COUNTRY
Blessed are those who lose all homelandfor theirs shall be the light of their own dominion.
But the homeland is no one’s when anyone
must deny it three thousand times before strangers.
The homeland has been seized in airports,
banks, multinationals, as uselessly wrinkled as the
valueless banknote that displays it; the homeland slowly fades
in the put-away photograph – crumbles away
with the scent of the last coffee.
The homeland is gradually left lying
on the streets of all the other homelands
to which we one day fled.
© 2010, Laura Chalar
From: Oscura edad y otros poemas
From: Oscura edad y otros poemas
NO MAN’S COUNTRY
Blessed are those who lose all homelandfor theirs shall be the light of their own dominion.
But the homeland is no one’s when anyone
must deny it three thousand times before strangers.
The homeland has been seized in airports,
banks, multinationals, as uselessly wrinkled as the
valueless banknote that displays it; the homeland slowly fades
in the put-away photograph – crumbles away
with the scent of the last coffee.
The homeland is gradually left lying
on the streets of all the other homelands
to which we one day fled.
© 2010, Laura Chalar
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