La Semilla/The Seed

I was inspired to write a poem around the theme: Beginnings. Our high school does a Poetry Cafe frequently where students and staff can submit and read their poetry in front of the whole school during one of our morning meetings before academic classes begin.

This month, I was up late, unable to sleep and this poem came to me in its infancy and has metamorphosed to where it is today, and how I read it today in front of my students and fellow teachers.

The inspiration? The beginning of my life was when I studied abroad in Santiago, Chile so that is where this stems from. This is my story of self-discovery.

La Semilla


Sus palabras fueron una tormenta de sonidos
Como una lluvia de fuerte que estaba cayendo sin ritmo

Yo, en un lugar desconocido, con evidencia de bombas y sufrimiento
Me llenaban con dolor

Y una semilla fue sembrada

Tenia verguenza y me sentia perdida en mi identidad
Habia un muerte por impuestos americanos
y un silencio que nos encerro con las heridas escondidas de la gente chilena
Como sobrevivio la gente chilena abajo la mano fatal del dictador?

Maria, llena de gracia
pero lejos de mi corazon
Su sufrimiento y muerte no tuvo valor
Ella fue un peon para dinero y poder
Cuando vi su alma y espiritu?

Y crece la semilla

Fue el cuento de los desaparecidos
Soy nada mas de un grano de arena
Escucha las voces de las madres de Plaza de Mayo

Y la semilla continua creciendo

Llegue, sabia nada. Ahora, nada.

La semilla, me ha dad mi vida

The English version...

Her words were a storm of sounds
Like a strong rain with no rhythm, they fell

In an unknown place, with evidence of bombs and suffering
I was filled with pain

And a seed was planted

I was ashamed and I felt lost in my own identity
There was a death by our taxes
and a silence that surrounded us with
the hidden wounds of the Chilean people
How did they survive under the hand of a fatal dictator?

Maria, full of grace
but so far from my heart

Her suffering and death had no value
She was a pawn for money and power
When did I see her soul and spirit?

And the seed grew

It was the story of the lost and forgotten

I am nothing more than a grain of sand
Listen to the voices of the mothers at Plaza de Mayo

And the seed continued growing

I arrived, knowing everything. Now, nothing.

The seed, it has given me life.