Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Pedro Arturo Estrada

NO MAN’S COUNTRY

Blessed are those who lose all homeland
for 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.

PAÍS DE NADIE

PAÍS DE NADIE

Bienaventurados los que pierden toda patria
porque 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.
Close

NO MAN’S COUNTRY

Blessed are those who lose all homeland
for 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.

NO MAN’S COUNTRY

Blessed are those who lose all homeland
for 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.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Prins Bernhard cultuurfonds
Lira fonds
Versopolis
J.E. Jurriaanse
Gefinancierd door de Europese Unie
Elise Mathilde Fonds
Stichting Verzameling van Wijngaarden-Boot
Veerhuis
VDM
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère