Off a boat
fromCuba
steps an African slave
who will conquer two continents,
with the pox
in his blood.
He will never know
how many Aztecs,
how many Maya,
how many Inca,
he kills.
Nor will
the Spanish king
reward him
for his service.
Nonetheless,
it will be his disease
that slays
three empires.
When the Conquistadors
return to Spain
in triumph,
arrayed with gold, silver,
potatoes, tomatoes,
mangos, and maize,
they bring another gift
in their bodies
- The Great Pox.
And so will
the Spanish,
the English,
the French,
be slain.
And so will love
be crushed
in the Old World
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem