My words, I still cannot swallow them.

But to show the truth and to search for it

I continue: I am like a pumpkin.

I have been planted in the middle, in the garden

Like a pumpkin I will creep on the ground

With both sides, to climb the trees of wisdom.

And strangle all the weeds.

Without fear, without history to go back to, I shall attack

The deeds of human beings that still are breathing.

Then the time

Will come 

            I will deliver fruits

            Big, small

            Good, bad

The time will arrive, when the experienced people will come

To weed me out with the hoe of ink.

The vegetables will not pluck me.

The time will come, for the pumpkins to have wounds/to be cut.

The dirty and clean ones will be ladled

And I shall go into the water pots of every town field.

Children will play with me in their hands.

They will drop me down and split me open.

But the seeds, the seeds will stay.

            I know

            I am not in danger

            The right reader

            In the town and in the field

            Analyses [also: cleans] me well.

 

Then will come that time

When they use cups of gold and glass

They throw me angrily into corner,

And I will be behind time

But when they forget that the ancestors

Used a calabash and vegetables

The origin of their culture

They will have thrown it away.

Remember, remember, remember.