A Angela Davis i als que vindran
Somia el blanc bastard, tota la nit,
les fosques sines d’una adolescent;
de dia, enlaira atletes, com el vent
ràpids i forts, de músculs de grafit.
Negra raça d’esclaus, negre neguit
d’un llinatge que creix, obscurament;
formigues negres, negre pensament
condemnat al treball, al dol, l’oblit.
Ah, però vindrà un dia —¡que vindrà!—
que l’escuma, la calç, la sal, la neu
seran, de cop, vençudes pel quitrà.
I pels camins vedats a les panteres
—per les sendes que els blancs avui passeu—
hi haurà ossos blancs i blanques calaveres.
To Angela Davis and others to come
The whole night the White bastard’s dreaming
of a teenager’s fine dark breast;
at daytime, he rises graphite muscled athletes instead,
quick and strong like the wind when blowing.
Black-race slaves, black unease
of a darkly growing ancestry;
black ants, black mentality
forced to work, oblivion, grief.
But certainly we’ll enjoy a day
when foam, lime, snow, salt,
be defeated by tar yield immediately.
And in trails Panthers now can’t wend their way
– those pathways where now only whites can walk –
there both white skulls and bones will be.
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