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Explorer's Lust

Tales of our passion are whispered
backstage of our nation’s history.
In exploration and adventure essays,
lovers’ trysts are censored, mestizo babes excluded,
your love and mine denied.
Your diaries’ pages are torn by zealous patriot’s
condoning conquerors’ lust for our maidens.
Ashamed of my dark skin, of my race
worshiping elements of nature,
they chronicled your life, skirting our truth.
Sweet echoes of your words
are chiselled from my wizened heart.
I’ll clamour of perennial wrongs,
saltwastes, oil stains foreclosing our liberty,
callous gazes of your people.
I shall speak now, I’m scraping out
the last moons of my existence
under an opaque sky.

Review Request (Intensity): 
I appreciate moderate constructive criticism
Review Request (Direction): 
How does this theme appeal to you?
Is the internal logic consistent?
Last few words: 
This is based on a true deeds. The beautiful lake before me is named after Perito Moreno, who arrived at an indigenous camp and was healed of his many wounds by them. He left, leaving several children behind.
Editing stage: 
Content level: 
Not Explicit Content

Comments

Dear Teddy, thank you for visiting and commenting so kindly. I've merely put into verses a true tale. I have to correct the information, Lago Moreno, named after the Spanish explorer, is south of where I live. It's part of a glorious chain of lakes that traverse Argentine Patagonia from North to South.
I'm glad you find it a delight to read, the poor woman not so...sad.
All the best, Gracy

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"My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies; fairy tales of yesterday will grow but never die, I can fly, my friends.” – Freddie Mercury

author comment

Bravo, A stunning piece.

What do you think of removing all personal pronouns?

Obi.

Hi Obi, thanks so much for visiting and commenting so kindly. The true tale is told by one indigenous woman, I don't see how I can make it impersonal? Many sad tales abound, this is only one. The conquerors and explorers were callous and often brutally so.
Keep safe, all the best, Gracy

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"My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies; fairy tales of yesterday will grow but never die, I can fly, my friends.” – Freddie Mercury

author comment
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