Social Justice Poetry

Tupak Amaru Condorkanki | A Social Justice Poem by Ximena Gautier Greve

Over there at height, the absolute haze,
Condors and flamingos flying the escarpment,
Cordillera Vilcanota of four hundred glaciers
whose clouds are the thinking of mountains.
Snow-capped Ausangate, the tutelar spirit,
its eyes are the turquoise lagoons
that are loving the Stone Forest,
the sun writes the seasons over
the inca sundial at Intihuatana,
Elusive deers leap by black rocks
like blades that hide the cougar.
Down at the huge precipice heather covered
the mighty Urubamba is breaking its swell.

Towards Vilcabamba, sacred city of Pachacútec
the Sons of Sun go fleeing from faith
and treachery of friars, of greedy conquerors
and viceroys, all of them accomplished enemies.
The dew-morning at Cordillera, are tears…

On the peaks of almost solid mist,
The student of Garcilaso, Jesuit scholar,
clandestine reader from Rousseau and Voltaire,
survivor of the Solar Lineage exterminated,
Túpak Amaru returns to life.

With rebellion are inhabited, the peaks in November
that only slavery and domination lived in those heights.
Creoles, zambos, Indian, mestizo, both male and female
one same body and beginning, fraternity
with some aftertaste of compass, level and plumb.

The Eight Haughty Peoples rose in revolt,
the Council of Five and Túpac’s wife Micaela
formed a poorly equipped army of seven thousand,
seven thousand disinherited following
their solar Inca Tupac Amaru the second,
against the detestable tyranny and forced labour
of Indians at mercury mines and chained blacks.

Speaks the ch’anka oracle, roar of the Apurimac,
torrent river like sea. And enslaved people
rise up victorious throughout all the country.

Nevertheless they will be dominated again. Tortured,
Túpac Amaru writes messages with his blood.
He is forced to witness the atrocious executions
of his family and followers unto the fourth generation,
ordered by José Antonio de Areche, the Visitador.
badly injured, the last Inca faced death.
First, they cut off his tongue, then tie up his members
to four horses pulling in the four directions, but he dies not.

Then, bored, the Spanish barbarian
beheads and dismembers in parts, that he sends
unto all latitudes of Tiwantinsuyo to be exposed.
Adds abomination doing the same to Micaela’s body.

On the heights of love and light,
the terror stayed like a dagger, rooted in souls
as a stab, terror stays planted in souls,
a dagger that no one was strong enough to take out.

In tears, the Inca people go burning
the bloodcurdling pieces of bodies of their sovereigns
Later, their ashes and continental insurrection
were scattered, beyond time,
by royal eagles and crowned hawks.

And you resurrect, again and again, son of the Sun,
Tupac Amaru Inka, in Uruguay, Argentina and Chile.
In Ecuador, Bolivia, Colombia and Venezuela,
to set fire at American freedom.

The end.

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