Eighth March
words: Maria-Mercè Marçal
music: Xavi Múrcia
traslation: Montserrat Abelló
Raising up both hands
towards the moon,
we open a window
in a closed up sky.
Heiresses of those women
burnt yesterday
we light a fire
with ruin and fear.
Witches will come
of all ages.
They will throw their brooms
to burn in the fire,
tubs and kitchen cloths,
soap and linen blue,
pots and pans,
scourers and nappies.
We will throw our brooms
to burn in the fire,
pots and pans,
linen blue and soap.
And the ashes it leaves
we will not change
for gold, iron,
sceptres nor daggers.
Born from the flames
we will only have life
as a weapon and shield
in our hands.
Smoke will draw
the beginning of History
like joyful ivy
surrounding our body
and it will be rainy and sunny
and we will dance to the rhythm
of new songs
the earth will receive.
We will vindicate night and
the word WOMAN.
And then the tree of freedom
will grow.
Book: Bruixa de dol