I have always wondered how the peoples of South America came to accept the language and the religion of the Spanish conquistadors, to the extent that they intermarried and became virtually indistinguishable from their oppressors. And how do they look back on history today? Are they the vanquished or the victors? This poem captures this question really well.
In galleons, on war horses, with their lances
and helmets - illiterate the first lot -
they arrived in waves
and in this house which was ours,
right here, they laid down the law.
They were the kings,
they had the weapons.
And when in the end they went,
after some deaths, shootings and treaties,
as a legacy, they left us
their blood and the cross, a language and nothing;
the house divided
in spoonfuls.
Now neighbors, invited guests,
starving beggars, all claim us as their own.
-- Marco Martos
