I decided to get started on the poetry whilst I'm here, as I'd fallen out of the habit after all the busy-ness of day to day life! This morning we went to meet the principal of the local school, who showed us round, next we're off to participate in a workshop with the parents of some youths who undertook a sexual health project at the local clinic.
So I took the opportunity to write a poem (intended for spoken word) inspired by the true, devastating events of the El Salvadoran civil war which were told to us by two individuals in the local town of Suchitoto who nevertheless enthused about how the people here are proud of their country. It's allso inspired by the teachings of Archbishop Romero. Hope you enjoy!
Country of the Saviour
I'm not a politican, I just want to show my reality,
Scarred but triumphant; poor but happy.
I like to dance, to drink and share my history;
For twelve long years our small country was torn,
My mother had to flee just so I could be born.
They took and they took and they never returned,
Filled houses with our innocent and watched them burn.
Standing up for those who were held down,
The Saint was shot from the midst of a crowd,
By the Powers that be,
Who refused to allow his fight for the free;
Killed in the centre of a sanctuary.
Romero's gone but his words live strong;
"Mi muerte sea por la liberacion,
De mi pueblo"
In his final throw,
Christ lived and died again,
But our people couldn't be saved
From the decade of pain.
Reagan poured $1.5 mill per day,
To help the army take Guerilla lives away,
To knock down dams and to wash away
Those who wanted to leave
For the women and children, no repreive.
Bombed mountains to pollute our water supply,
Without resources how wcould we ever survive?
Reagan's dollar didn't consider us twice;
We roared like lions but were treated like mice.
Their boots stamped down but our bones were strong,
We'd lost some brothers but we carried along,
Because our cause was right and we knew they were wrong.
In the end we got there but the question remains;
What good are reforms when they're tainted with stains?
The blood of our madres, padres and friends.
I'm not a politician, I just want to show our reality;
Scarred but triumphant; poor but happy.
Lily Bland (pictured in El Salvador learning to roll a cigar from a 91 year old pro) is at the end of week 2 in El Salvador, and sent this poem over to us as part of the documenting of her experiences.
