In these caverns, Almeyda, are the 

waters that heal and a man-of-

many-names who claims

That you are safe

With the wise woman Zibatra, an old

friend of his and

                       Prophetess.

Wise men and women know each

                       Other,

As if they were drops of the

                       Same water.

These leaves I chew and 

dream of you

Or see you in waking.

You oil me with healing oil. The

man-of-many-names says that these

wounds are

                      Not deep,

Shoulder wounds,

Almeyda,

And that I’ve come here not

                      For the wounds but

for the spirit’s

                      Healing.

Zibatra, who is this

                      Zibatra?

A wise woman, he says, an old

acquaintance, though they’ve 

never met.

But wise men and women know

each other, 

As if they were

Seeds from the same pod. Are

you somewhere in

                     Alagoas?

Are you hidden in the

                     Forest?

But you oil me with healing oil.

Do I dream?

I do not dream; I look

Upon you with favor,

Com bons olhos.

Here, to talk of love is

                     Improper, to

kiss is impropriety. We are

Africans, says

                     Ovimbundo.

And war and love don’t mix. But I

must call you Amante

                     Anyhow.

Almeyda, Amante. Is this

                     Treachery?

The man-of-many-names is

scandalized by kisses.

Only Europeans caress with

                     Kisses.

In this New World,

You oil me with healing oil, and

kiss the wounds on my 

                     Shoulders. 

But they are not deep

                     Wounds,

Almeyda.

Do you hear the congadas? We

coronate a king.

But here we are all kings and

all servants too.

I do not make spears as in 

                     Palmares,

Or make the poison to tip

                     Them with, though

there are others who

                     Make spears

                     And

Repair muskets.

In dreams, I return to

                     Alagoas

To search for you.

But Ovimbundo, our leader

                     Here,

Says that for now,

It is best we both stay

                     Hidden

For Jorge Velho’s regiment

                     Of petitioners is

still scattered, hunting

                     Us, the

                     Palmaristas,

And searching the Barriga

                     Range.

The war is not ended. And

so I keep to this

                     Stronghold,

For it is best not to even

inadvertently lead the enemy

here.

So keep to your stronghold,

                     Almeyda.

They are still searching for us, even

along the frontier.

I dream you have been

                     Captured, and

Angola and Cabinda,

Palmaristas who have also

                     Been

Given refuge here

Confirm the wisdom of

the wise man and so I

Keep to this stronghold. It

would be rash, he says,

To seek you now, Amante, so keep

to your stronghold, and I’ll keep to

mine. 

Am I drugged?

There was a time I’d not have

listened even to King

                     Zumbi

If he gave me such an order. I’d have

searched every

                     Polegada

Of the Barriga range. Am I

not a free man?

Eu não sou um homem livre?

But by now, he says, they

know that I’m a 

                     Palmarista

                     Too.

But by now, he says,

The petitioners have revoked

                     My free

                     Papers.

Using freedom, they say, to

facilitate conspirators

                     Against the 

                     King!

And is not the king a

                     Conspirator

                     Against us?

       Would not the king trade

                     Anyone of us 

For a keg of English brandy?

Ovimbundo prophesies a time of no

slave traders

No slave peddlers, no

slave merchants, bartering

us for Sugar

Tobacco

Brandy

Flour

Manioc

Rum

Hides

Fish

Lumber

Gold 

Leather

Dried meat

Silk

Imported carpets

Pepper

Firearms

And when we Africans

Build our own cities

Not hidden in some forest or the

Barriga range

But cities in the open even

along the frontier from

Bahia to Rio from

Pernambuco to 

                      Jigonhonha from

Piaui to Maranhao from Para to

Rio Grande from Minas Gerais

to

                      Sergipe.

But between now and then,

                      Almeyda,

More slave agents

And more Captain Velhos than we

can count on all our

                      Fists.

O quilombo dos Palmares.

And not just the chalked

                      Faces,

Even pretos.

If color’s not contagious, then

slavery is.

Do I dare tell you of

King Adarunga?

But the collaborators and

                      The

                      Conspirators

Always have the same faces. Here, I

do not plan war

                      Strategems. In

Palmares, I knew King

                      Zumbi,

But here I do not know the

                      King. 

Perhaps they think it’s

easier not to have

                      Traitors,

If everyone thinks that

                      Everyone’s the

                      King,

So when they coronate the King,

They coronate us all!

Ovimbundo

And Bacongo and 

Quimbundo, Pedro

And Nascimiento

And Honorio,

Mandinga,

And Ioio, and

Xingar.

Here, I do not make spears or

repair firearms,

I grow yams, and

santonica,

And Indian pepper, and

agapanthus.

(Should I dare call it

The African love-flower?) And

I tend the king’s

                     Horses.

Horses are better than 

                     Spears,

Says Ovimbundo. Better 

than firearms. Though I

don’t know who the king

is,

Or what the horses are for.

You are rubbing me with

                     Healing oils,

                     Almeyda,

And I am planting

                     Agapanthus.

And we are in that New

                     Brazil

Building our own city, our

own free city.