México lindo
México querido
México de Emiliano Zapata
México de revolucionarios
que resisten el menosprecio
de sangre indÌgena
el �nico oro colorado
que sostiene
al espÌritu del pobre

sangre que pinta la piel canela
y ablanda al corazÛn de raza
raza mestiza olvidadiza
que traiciona al Indio que siente por dentro
y oprime al Indio que ve por fuera
cuya sangre solo existe para dar fuerza
al brazo de esclavitud

el rio carmesÌ
que fluye en venas puras
del Chole, el Tseltal, el Zoque, el Tojolabal,
el Chamula, el Tzotzil, el LacandÛn

es m·s antiguo
que la misma patria
que los dejÛ abandonados

sobre el piso de polvo en sus chozas
corren l·grimas y luego sangre
esperando auxilio que nunca llega
anhelando su tierra natal,
tierra robada por asesinos
cuyas manos se ven limpias
pero est·n manchadas con sangre indigena

why do mestizos betray the Indio within
& oppress the Indio without
who becomes no more than
the strong arm of cheap labor?

who gives mestizos their cinnamon color
& softens the warm heart of raza?
who has honored the Creator
& respected the sacredness of Mother Earth
so that the world's future grandchildren
can enjoy clean land, air, and water?

a cloud of darkest truth
has concealed México's beauty
but the red nations within her refuse to die
& today are rising up again
as in so many revolutions past
nations yearning to be reborn
to be free again
to cultivate again
after 500 years of tortuous existence
inside the womb of an uncaring mother

México:

she is so much younger than the crimson river
still flowing in the veins of descendants of the Maya,
she is more indigenous than European in her composition
but more European than indigenous in her disposition,
she was spawned by oppression,
born in the pain of conquest,
now locked in the grip of a Mestizo government
that still feeds the mouth of a hungry beast
the five-century-old pet of first-world greed
with new NAFTA fangs
to feed the rich & devour the poor

the campesinos know the name of the old beast:

it is death, despair, and dispossession
it is a life of death & forced denials
twenty cents a day to fill the bones with flesh
twenty cents a day to hope to live tomorrow
twenty cents a day to wish to die today
twenty cents a day they never see
because the strong arm of the Indio
only buys credit from the PRI
& twenty cents on Sunday they never see
when the women can be kicked and raped
with impunity
and the poor must work for free

babies utter the name of the beast with their cries
mimicking the gurgling sounds of the river of cholera
whose water they drink,
they feel a mother's love
but cannot understand why
she doesn't end the pains of hunger
or soften the effects of malnutrition

teenage women lose their sense of right and wrong
in prostitution houses of despair
granting pleasure to fun-seeking Americanos
who avoid the festering pockets of third-world reality
to see only the sights and hear sounds of a false México
& then bring back stories of conquered women

the campesinos dig premature graves
for the fifteen thousand with curable diseases
who will die again this year
just like the ten years before
when the doctor could not come,
for there's only one for every 1500 people
spread across a hostile jungle, not their native land
which they were forced to abandon four decades ago
where they lived in harmony with the biosphere
preserving resources for the world's future generations
which today's generation is destroying

here en El Norte
there is also the matter of lost land
for Chicanos, a treaty nation
whose language disappears in a single generation
whose song & dance help keep a culture alive

between shouts of ecstasy
during moments of forgotten pain
we strain to hear the liberating outcries
from the south, where desperate voices tell the press to
"let the Chicanos know about our struggle!"
"tell the Mexicans, workers, peasants, students,
honest professionals, and progressives from other countries..."

maybe they don't know about the beast in El Norte
that turns Chicano power into mild hispanic soup
& places ethnic minority labels on willing si-se-puede raza,
leaving only a few trucha/caring raza
to carry the heavy banner of freedom and democracy
across the northern half of México,
this lost land called Aztlan

why is the press here so silent?
why the hesitation
to be democratic, to expose the beast,
history's greatest producer of human death?
why do perpetual agendas persist
while major statements
from the nations of this Red Continent
reverberate around the world?

México lindo, México indÌgena,
Chiapanecas y Chiapanecos,
we salute you from El Norte,
but where is the flag that truly represents us?
which flag does not attack our culture
or take away our power?

which flag will not deny us our existence?
which one promises to heal the nations
of Turtle Island?
which flag, México querido, can we trust?
which flag?