Montezuma's tomb hides treasure hold,
or dust some Spanish pride parade would spade?
Beauty, barter bait, alluring gold,
justified atrocity crusade
conquistadors concocted. Soon, slave sold,
nation fell from grace, its customs fade.
Nothing can escape Time's stranglehold
for what remains of Cortez' cavalcade,
white plumes, bright armour, in cold grave are laid.
(8 August 2007)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem