What were you to me?
A land forgotten and remote,
a land of knights and high plateaux.
What were you to me?
where blazed a strange and cruel love,
a wild intoxicant
of glinting blades
Now you are my destiny,
now I live and share your fate.
In your struggle to be free
wholly I participate.
Now I'm stirred, now I rejoice
at all your victories in the fight.
In your youth and strength I trust
and my own strength with yours unite.
Crouching in machine-gun nests,
I fight on to victory,
down among Toledo's streets,
on the outskirts of Madrid.
A worker in a cotton shirt
torn by bullets near me lies,
Ceaselessly the warm blood streams
from the cap pulled o'er his eyes.
It is my blood that I feel humming
through my veins, as suddenly
in him I recognize the friend
I once knew in a factory
where we shoveled coal together,
stoking the same furnace fire,
and found there was no barrier
to check our young and bold desire.
Sleep, my comrade, sleep in peace!
Though now the blood the blood-red flag be furled,
your blood into mine will pass
and stir the peoples of the world.
The blood you gave, already flows
through village, factory, town and state,
arouses, urges and inspires
all working men to demonstrate.
That workers never will lose heart,
but will advance relentlessly,
determined both to work and fight
and shed their blood that men be free.
Today your blood builds barricades,
infuses courage in our hearts,
and with a reckless joy proclaims:
'Madrid is ours!
Madrid is ours!'
The world is ours! Friend, have no fear!
The whole expanding universe
Beneath the southern sky
and have faith,
have faith in us!
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Comments about this poem (Spain by Nikola Vaptsarov )
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