CONQUISTADOR

Silvery, streaking moonlight on the cooling desert sand-
Indian tom-toms beating to the rhythm of the clouds....
The hunter stalking silently, no weapon in his hands-
The beast is surely coming, in the clothing of a man.

The softly glowing leaves upon the native jungle trees-
The dancing tribal women ‘round the pounding, pulsing flame....
He comes to take our riches, comes to bring us to our knees-
He comes to make us worship him; he comes to make us bleed.

Shifting, shining water, rolling waves onto the coast-
Empty beaches, covered with a million fishers’ prints....
He comes aboard a foreign ship, a Spanish sailing boat-
He steps onto the dampened sand, as pale as any ghost.