The Mitayo

By Manuel González Prada

“My son, I leave;

Morning reverberates on the volcano;

Give me my chonta cane,

My jaguar sandals.”

“Father, here are your sandals,

Here is your cane.

By why do you look at me and weep,

Where are you going?”

“The unjust law of the whites

Tears me from my home;

I go to toil and starve,

I go to the deadly mines.”

“You leave us today,

But when, when do you come back?”

“When the flame of the crags

Shall love the sandy desert.”

“When will the flame of the crags

Love the sandy desert?”

“When the tiger of the forest

Shall drink the waters of the sea.”

“When will the tiger of the forest

Drink the water of the sea?”

“When from the condor’s egg

A deadly serpent is born.”

“When will a deadly serpent

Be born from the condor’s egg?”

“When the breast of the whites

Is moved to pity.”

“When will the breast of the whites

Be moved to pity?”

“My son, the breast of the whites

Will never be moved to pity.”

Translated by Carlton Beals, from Fire on the Mountain (Phila: J.B. Lippincotto, 1937), 295-6.

Prepared for the Internet by Sonia Fernandes.

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El porvenir nos debe una victoria, prosa y poesía de Manuel González Prada