And here we must admit that Bolivar never feared, or
hesitated in front of any battle, in front of the most
dreadful, as they call it, the moment of the inescapable
bitter blackness of treason.
They say he knew from the beginning, with unimaginable
accuracy, the day, the hour, even the second: the moment
of the great battle that was fought for him alone, in
which he was not only the army but the enemy too,
the victor and defeated too
triumphant hero and expiatory victim too.
(And the beautiful pneuma of Cyril Lucaris dwelled
inside of him
how he serenely fooled the horrible trap of the Jesuits
and of that man from Philpoupolis)
And if he was lost, if a Bolivar ever gets lost, who was
risen to the sky like Apollo’s sun,
gleaming he went down, in unimaginable glory, behind
the polite mountains of Attica and Morias.
Invocation
Bolivar, you are the son of Rigas Feraios, and of Antony
Economou, so unjustly slaughtered, and a brother
of Patsatzoglou,
The dream of the great Maximilian de Robespierre is reborn
upon your forehead.
You are the liberator of South America.
I don’t know which relation connected you if the other great
American from Montevideo, was your descendant, one is
surely known, that I am your son.
Libros Libertad 