vintage sole 737
Banned
- 149
- 10
- Joined
- Jul 23, 2007
PERU
translation:
Rhythms of servitude
Cruel bitterness and sorrow
to the beat of their chains
black rhythms of Peru.
From Africa came my grandmother
all dressed with seashells,
she was brought by Spaniards
on board a carvel ship.
They branded her with fire,
the "carimba" was her cross.
And, in America of the South
to the beat of aching bones
drums of the black men sounded
rhythms of servitude.
For a single gold coin
she was re-sold in Lima
and in the 'La Molina" hacienda
she served the Spaniard people.
With other back slaves from Angola
�they earned for their hard labor
�mosquitoes for their veins
�a hard floor for a bed
and nothing to mitigate
cruel bitterness and sorrow.
In the sugar cane plantation
was born the sad ‘Socabon’,
and in the rum factories
the black men sang the ‘Zaña’.
The machete and the sickle
tanned his dark hands;
and the indians with their flutes
and the black men with their drums
together sang their sad fate
to the beat of their chains.
The old black man died
�but among the dry sugar cane
he still sings his ‘Zamacueca’
and the ‘Panalivio’ so faintly.
And one can still hear the ‘Festejo’
�he sang in their youth.
From Cañete to Timbuktu,
from Chancay to Mozambique
music carries in its beat
black rhythms of Peru.
translation:
Rhythms of servitude
Cruel bitterness and sorrow
to the beat of their chains
black rhythms of Peru.
From Africa came my grandmother
all dressed with seashells,
she was brought by Spaniards
on board a carvel ship.
They branded her with fire,
the "carimba" was her cross.
And, in America of the South
to the beat of aching bones
drums of the black men sounded
rhythms of servitude.
For a single gold coin
she was re-sold in Lima
and in the 'La Molina" hacienda
she served the Spaniard people.
With other back slaves from Angola
�they earned for their hard labor
�mosquitoes for their veins
�a hard floor for a bed
and nothing to mitigate
cruel bitterness and sorrow.
In the sugar cane plantation
was born the sad ‘Socabon’,
and in the rum factories
the black men sang the ‘Zaña’.
The machete and the sickle
tanned his dark hands;
and the indians with their flutes
and the black men with their drums
together sang their sad fate
to the beat of their chains.
The old black man died
�but among the dry sugar cane
he still sings his ‘Zamacueca’
and the ‘Panalivio’ so faintly.
And one can still hear the ‘Festejo’
�he sang in their youth.
From Cañete to Timbuktu,
from Chancay to Mozambique
music carries in its beat
black rhythms of Peru.