To Your Highness

To Your Highness, who sits in his throne

Once a year. The rusty crown

Waves its golden scepter, now opaque,

As a hammer shatters the national pride

Of your equals, who are forced below            

Yet do not bother to look up to you.

Bourbon you are, Bourbon you were

Of the Franks in ancient times.

Now legacy of Franco

And his shameless transition

Which did not bring a new era                        

And did not bring the death of tyranny

Behind parliaments of corrupt ministers,

In your chambers and rooms

Of stolen gold, you hide,                             

In hope the ruined pillars

Holding Your palace do not crumble

As Our Hospitals and Our Schools.

You are no more than the beggars

Who you command to be evacuated

From their cardboard homes and their rags,

When you organize your parades

Begging, for trust and loyalty,

While royally assaulting the public funds.

Oh Your Highness, defender of Democracy

Lecturer of  Freedom of Speech,

If only I declaimed these words in Madrid,

I would pay a visit to your friends in a prison cell.       

You are not my king, I am afraid to tell

The purple flag waves proudly, where the red one never did.

                                                                                                       Rodrigo Caicedo