COSSACK SONG Poem by Henry Luque

No noble cause will ever die.
Nikolai Gogol
I have an enemy
who looks for me in the dead land,
a sword that spies on me
and yearns to bathe the sky with my blood.

I have a son
who flies like the steed,
his passion is to fight, his voice is the thunder,
he shines more than the sun on the steppe.

I have a crop
made of gunpowder and wheat
which I protect from light sleep to light sleep
and to which I give my own water to drink.

I have a love
that consumes me in her big caldron,
a grief that closes my eyes at night
and awakens me at dawn.

I have a dead man
who scratches and scratches the earth under the earth,
a dead man who has not died, who cries out for vengeance
and who will come back dressed in iron.

I have a star
that does not obey the sky,
a firmament that is not up or down
and comes to me from inside myself.

I have a dagger
wiser than all books,
it knows how to defend life
and does not know fear or humble itself.