Flying kite, the flag (Cometa volandera, la bandera)

August came and left and not once I thought of the hot, windy afternoons I used to spent in that month during my childhood, making and flying kites, running free without a care in the world. Yesterday I celebrated my 180^th blog entry with the introduction to the lovely poem Flying kite, the flag from my Dad’s book The celebrated afternoon (La tarde festejada). Tonight, the actual poem, but before you read it, this is really what makes the month of August so special for my country:

The Battle of Boyacá was the battle in which Colombia, then known as New Granada, acquired its definitive independence from Spanish Monarchy, although fighting with royalist forces would continue for years. This battle occurred 150 km from Bogotá in the Andes Mountains, in a place known as Casa de Teja on the 7^th of August 1819. In commemoration of this battle, August 7 is a national holiday in Colombia. On this date every four years the elected President of Colombia is installed in the Presidential Casa de Nariño.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battle_of_Boyac%C3%A1

Flying kite, the flag (Cometa volandera, la bandera)

I hoist my song before

the luminous flying kite of August

made of still time and

of the graceful movement of time, the flag.

When the beginning was

in the waterfalls of the first dreams,

in the era filled with augural laurels,

the flag at full-mast, the flag.

In the dark around the night guard

hearts in full spring

build freedom in their dreams

with the supreme warmth of the flag.

Amidst the destruction, in combat,

in the last voice,

in the final look at the horizon,

in the final goodbye of agony, the flag.

In the grave adorned with laurels,

in the heroic ascent to the raised coat of arms

of the perpetuated life,

cry of love and tears, the flag.

For the soldier and the water-carrier

and the captain and the martial band,

in the light of the rainbowed rain,

in the cruel battle, the flag.

When peace arrives, in the silence

of the defeated hatred, the first light

of the original victorious day

will fade in the light of the flag.

It will be then like the synthesis of Motherland

in tricolour flying fabric-

piercing the blue blowing in the wind,

vibrant

and tremulous

the flag!