Le agradezco a León Leiva, amigo escritor hondureño residente en Estados Unidos, este humanísimo gesto de traducir el poema que hice para darle memoria y denuncia al asesinato de Emo por sicarios paramilitares. Una tragedia que encierra símbolos trans-culturales a los que nadie puede ser indiferente, sobretodo en el marco de una represión dentro de Honduras donde intereses imperiales someten a voluntad el sentido de nación que habíamos tenido hasta ahora.
A Brief Telling of Mahadeo Roopchands Sadloo Sadloo
Suriname had merely space enough so that people
could always embrace each other
It was so beautiful and small
that the rivers were only one river;
though maps pictured it furrowed
by blue veins like the arms of Shiva.
The birds of the forest
bestowed the name to its capital;
that is why every time someone said Paramaribo
the trees would suddenly surge in flight
carrying the seed of a child
to all parts of the world.
It was hard for the English to defeat the resistance
of the natives.
It was much easier for the Dutch to overcome the English.
A coup d’état took place in 1980;
and cattle grew thin in eight years time.
There simply was no way to stay,
as Bouterse ordered us all to be killed,
in a month of December so green it hurt.
I never thought I would live another coup,
and much less die for one.
memory lumps everything together and turns the lungs into a knot,
and breathing is no longer possible when you thought
you had finally found your motherland
and then come the same ones from the world’s end
and begin to remind you of death,
shot by shot,
and in the midst of thunder you hear the thousands of tongues
the birds used to form the voice Paramaribo
and you hear the crying and screaming
and suddenly you see how the arms of Shiva begin the dance
and a splendid bird takes your soul
to spread it all over the world, once more,
like the multifarious seed of a child that is born…
and remembers absolutely nothing.
(Traducción de ©León Leiva Gallardo)