The Head on the Spear by Pablo Neruda — Read

Balboa, you brought death and claw to the corners of the sweet central land, and among the manhunting dogs, yours was your soul: bloody thick-lipped little Leo brought to bay the fleeing slave, sank Spanish fangs into the pulsing throats, and from the dogs' claws the flesh went off to martyrdom, and the treasure fell into the purse.

Accursed be dog and man, the infamous howl in the primal jungle, the prowling step of iron and bandit.

Accursed the thorny crown of wild brambles that didn't bristle like a sea urchin to defend the invaded homeland.

But among the bloodthirsty captains, the justice of daggers, the bitter branch of envy rose out of the shadows.

And when you returned, the name of Pedrarias stood in the middle of your road like a noose.

You were tried amid the barks of Indian-killing dogs.

Now, as you die, do you hear the pure silence, shattered by your incited greyhounds?

Now, as you die at the hands of the fierce captains-general, do you smell the golden aroma of the sweet ravaged kingdom?

When they cut off Balboa's head, it was left impaled on a spear. His lifeless eyes released their lightning and ran down the shaft in a great drop of filth that vanished into the earth.