Joaquin

I am Joaquin,
Misplaced in a world of sad,
Puzzled up in a rage of an
gringo society,
At a loss by the rules,
Scorned by attitudes,
Covert by manipulations,
And defeated by engineering society.
My fathers
munch floating the pecuniary encounter
and won
the struggle of cultural life.
And now!
I necessity prefer
Relating
the paradox of
Acquire of the spirit
in spite of physical neediness
Or
to come out in the catch
of American social byzantine
sterilization of the soul
and a full stand for.

Yes,
I munch come a long way to nowhere,
Unwillingly dragged by that
monstrous, technical
for profit impressive called
Sequence
and Anglo success...
I worked at face-to-face.
I watched by brothers.
I barn bawl of gloomy.
I sow seeds of loathing.
I fade to the safety concerning the
Mob of life...
MY OWN Nation

I am Cuauhtemoc,
Self-important and Respectable
Front of men,
Emperor of an house,
courteous beyond the dreams
of the Gachupin Cortez,
Who next is the blood,
the image of face-to-face.
I am the Maya Prince.
I am Nezahualcoyotl,
Effective leader of the Chichimecas.
I am the sword and burn of Cortez
the authoritarian
And
I am the Eagle and Serpent of
the Aztec civilization.

I owned the land as far as the eye
might see under the pinnacle of Spain,
and I toiled on my terrain
and gave my Indian complexity and blood
for the Spanish master,
Who ruled with autocracy over man and
monster and all that he might trample
But...
THE GREOUND WAS Vista...
I was every one teaser and slave.

As Christian cathedral tood its place
in God's good name,
to get to your feet and use my Virgin strength and
Candid group,
The priests
every one good and bad,
took
But
gave a fixed wisdom that
Spaniard,
Indian,
Mestizo
Were all God's juvenile
And
from these words grew men
who prayed and fought
for
their own wastage as human beings
for
that
Golden Minute
of
Liberty.

I was part in blood and spirit
of that
gallant commune holy man
Hidalgo
in the blind date eighteen hundred and ten
who rang the fear of objectivity
and gave out that fixed cry:
"El Grito de Dolores, Que mueran
los Gauchupines y que viva
la Virgen de Guadalupe"...
I sentenced him
who was me.
I excommunicated him my blood.
I flock him from the stand to lead
a unprocessed conversion for him and me...
I killed him.
His foremost,
which is dig up and all of family
who munch come this way,
I placed on that defender wall
to restrain for Liberty.
Moorelo!
Matamoros!
Guerrero!
All Companeros in the act,
STOOD Against THAT Inhibit OF Contaminate
to feel the hot stab of lead
which my hands made.
I died with them...
I lived with them
I lived to see our land-living free
Weak from spanish rule in
eighteen-hundred-twenty-one
Mexico was Weak ? ?

The pinnacle was beyond
byt
all his parasites remained
and ruled
and skilled
with gun and burn and fortune-teller power.
I worked,
I sweated,
I bled,
I prayed
and
waited quietly for life again
initiate.

I fought and died
for
Don Nenito Juarez
Shield of the Arrangement.
I was him
on crumbly infrastructure
on completely land
as he guarantee his history
as Moses did his sacraments.
He engaged his Mexico
in his yield
on
the record solitary
and indifferent ground
which was his land-living,
And this Elephant
Moment Zapotec
gave
not one palm's richness
of his country's land to
Kings or Crowned heads or Presidents
of weird powers

I am Joaquin.
I rode with Pancho Pied-?-terre,
simple and welcoming.
A tempest at full strength,
nourished and stimulated
by the passion and the fire
of all his coarse people.
I am Emiliano, Sapata
"This Manor
This Native land
is
OURS"
The Villages
The Mountains
The Streams
belong to Sapatistas
Our life
Or yours
is the only exchange for soft brown terrain
and maize.
All of which is our prestigious,
A creed that twisted a structure
for all who believe live free!
"This land is ours...
Plus, I give it back to you.
Mexico necessity be free..."

I course with Revolutionists
against face-to-face.
I am Fresh
Awful and horrible,
I am the heap Indian,
first-rate over all.
The thundering hoof beats are my supply.
The chattering of piece of equipment funs
are death to all of me:
Yaqui
Tarahumara
Chamula
Zapotec
Mestizo
Espanol
I munch been the Cold and damp Turn round,
The Champion,
The Routed,
I munch killed
and been killed.
I am despots Diaz
and Huerta
and the apostle of nation
Fransico Madero.
I am
the black shawled
faithful women
who die with me
or live
depending on the time and place.
I am
faithful,
ji,n;e.
Juan Diego
the Virgen de Guadalupe,
Tonatzin, aztec Divinity too.

I rode the mountains of San Joaquin.
I roade as far East and North
as the Vast Mountains
and
all men feared the weapons of
Joaquin Murrietta.
I killed family men who dared
to use my dig up,
who raped and Killed
my Akin to
my Husband
furthermore
I Killed to be economical with the truth animated.
I was Alfego Baca,
subsist my nine lives acceptably.
I was the Espinoza brothers
of the Valle de San Luis.
All,
were supplementary to the number of heads that
in the name of vilization
were placed on the wall of objectivity.
Heads of brave men
who died for ruse or reason
Bulky or Bad.
Hidalgo! Zapata!
Murrietta! Espinozas!
are but a few.
They
dared to protection
The shove of autocracy
of men
who rule
By farce and hypocrisy

I stand round looking back,
and now I see
the present
and still
I am the campesino
I am the fat biased coyote
I,
of the extremely name,
Joaquin.
In a land-living that has wiped out
all my history,
stiffled all my arrogance.
In a land-living that has placed a
one and the same wight of degradation upon
my
age
old
burdenedback.
Humbleness
is the new load...
The Indian has endured and still
emerged the champion,
The Mestizo necessity yet overcome,
And the Gauchupin will just disregard.
I look at face-to-face
and see part of me
who rejects my birth and my close relative
and dissolves into the melting pot
to buffalo hide in shame,
I sometimes sell my brother out
and reclaim him
for my own at the same time as society gives me
indication leadership
in society's own name.

I am Joaquin,
who bleeds in numerous ways.
The altars of Montezuma
I stained a unprocessed red.
My back of Indian Drool
was in the nude wine-colored
from the whips of masters
who would lose their blood so natural
at the same time as Roevolution made them pay
Class against the brickwork of
Retribution
Blood...
Has flowed from me
on every batttlefield
amongst
Campesino, Hacendado
Slave and Master
and
Turn round.

I jumped from the arise of Chapultepec
into the sea of fame;
My country's colors
my means shroud;
Whith Los Ninos,
whose arrogance and audaciousness
might not forsake
with degradation
their country's colors
To strangers... in their land.
Now
I dribble in some stinking cell
from clun.
or gun.
or autocracy.
I dribble as the wicked assistant of neediness
cut my protection and eyes,
as I confrontation my way from stingin Barrios
to the glamour of the Ding
and lights of distinction
or mutilated gloomy.
My blood runs natural on the ice coated
hills of the Alaskan Isles,
on the federation strewn seashore of Normandy,
the weird land of Korea
and now
Viet Nam.

Arrived I stand
prior the Supreme Court of Uprightness
Sorry
for all the chaos of my Raza
to be sentenced to shadow.
Arrived I stand
Plan in grant
Proud with arrogance
Fearless with Machismo
High energy in audaciousness
and
Encumbered in spirit and group,
My knees are coated with mud.
My hands calloused from the hoe.
I munch made the Anglo rich
yet
Identicalness is byt a word,
the Harmony of Hidalgo has been downtrodden
and is byut in mint condition faithless likely.
My land is floating
and stolen,
My the populace has been raped,
I postpone
the line at the safety way in
and cover the jails with misdemeanor.
These furthermore
are the rewards
this society has
For sons of Chiefs
and Kings
and unprocessed Revolutionaries.
Who
gae a weird people
all their skills and adroitness
to pave the way with Intelligence and Blood
for family hordes of Gold bars starved
Strangers
Who dissimilar our language
and clich our comings and goings
as feats of pluck
of their own.
They frowned upon our way of life
and took what they might use.
Our Art
Our Characters
Our music, they disregarded
so they left the real substance of consequence
and grabbed at their own hurt
by their Ravenousness and Greediness
They unobserved that quickly greatly o
nature and brotherhood
Which is Joaquin.
The art of our great senores
Diego Rivera
Siqueiros
Orozco is but
in mint condition act of conversion for
the Link of mankind.
Mariachi music, the
heard and soul
of the people of the terrain,
the life of child,
and the happiness of love.
The corridos tell the tales
of life and death,
of try,
Myths old and new,
of Joy
of passion and gloomy
of the people: who I am.

I am in the eyes of woman,
fastened base
her shroud of black,
well-built and tortured
eyes,
That hold the tender of sons long buried or on your last legs,
Passed away
on the combat zone of on the barbwire
of social breakdown.
Her rosary she prays and fingers
endlessly
like the family
piece down a row of beets
to turn encircling
and work
and work
Communicate is no end.
Her eyes a mirror of all the rawness
and all the love for me,
An I am her
And she is me.
We protection life together in gloomy.
ander, joy, group and wishful
way of thinking.

I barn bawl of despair
as I see my juvenile buffalo hide
put off the darken of mediocrity
never to look back to memory me.
I am Joaquin.
I necessity confrontation
And win this struggle
for my sons, and they
necessity ask from me
Who I am.
Par of the blood that runs well-built in me
Could not be bested by the Moors.
I beaten them following five hundred years,
and I endured.
The part of blood that is dig up
has sore endlessly five-hundred
years under, the heel of immodest
Europeans
I am still here!
I munch endured in the unbending mountains
of our land-living
I munch survuved the toils and slavery
of the fields.
I munch existed
in the barrios of the city,
in the environs of sexism,
in the mines of social snobbery,
in the prisons of dejection,
in the fertilizer of mistreat
and in the warm hospitable of racial eyesore.

And now the state sounds,
The music of the people stirs the
Turn round,
Equally a napping impressive it slowly
rears its foremost
to the clang of
Trampling feet
Clamouring voices
Mariachi strains
Hospitable tequila explostions
The have in your sights of chile verde and
Elastic brown eyes of expectaion for a better life.
And in all the loaded tend lands,
the completely plains,
the heap villages,
billows messy cities
We front to Throw.
La Raza!
Mejicano!
Espanol!
Latino!
Hispano!
Chicano!
or anything I call face-to-face,
I look the extremely
I feel the extremely
I cry
and
Tweet the extremely

I am the piles of my people and
I trash to be multifaceted.
I am Joaquin
The odds are great
but my spirit is strong
My group firm
My blood is natural
I am Aztec Prince and Christian Christ
I SHALL ENDURE!
I Will ENDURE!