There's No Forgiving by Pablo Neruda — Read

I want land, fire, bread, sugar, flour, sea, books, homeland for all, that's why

I wander about: the traitor's judges pursue me and his thurifers, like trained monkeys, try to muddy my reputation.

And I went with him, the man who presides, to the mine shaft, to the desert of the forgotten dawn,

I went with him and told my poor brothers:

"You won't save the threads of tattered clothes, you won't have this breadless day, you'll be treated as if you were the country's children. " "Now we're going to distribute beauty, and women's eyes won't weep for their children."

And when instead of distributing love, in the night they took that same man off to hunger and martyrdom, that one who heeded him and surrendered his powerful tree's strength and tenderness, then I wasn't with the little satrap, but with that nameless man, with my people.

I want my country for mine own, I want equal light above my fiery country's hair,

I want the day's and plow's love,

I want to erase the line they draw with hatred to segregate the people's bread, and the man who switched the country's line until (like a jailer) he delivered it, handcuffed, to those who pay to hurt it,

I'm not going to sing or silence this,

I'm going to leave their numbers and names nailed to the wall of dishonor.