The Seed is in Me by José Craveirinha

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Dead or living

the seed is in me

in the universal whiteness of my bones

All feel

uneasiness

at the undoubted whiteness of my bones

white as the breasts of Ingrids or Marias

in Scandinavian lands

or in Polana the smart quarter

of my old native town.

All feel

uneasiness

that the mingling in my veins should be

blood from the blood of every blood

and instead of the peace ineffable of pure and simple birth

and a pure and simple death

breed a rash of complexes

from the seed of my bones.

But a night with the massaleiras heavy with green fruit

batuques swirl above the sweating stones

and the tears of rivers

All feel

uneasiness

at the white seed in me

breeding a rash inflamed with malediction.

And one day

will come all the Marias of the distant nations

penitent or no

weeping

laughing

or loving to the rhythm of a song

To say to my bones

forgive us, brother.