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Mi Ultimo Adios – Dr Jose Rizal Fotografía de la ejecución de José Rizal [My Final Farewell – photo of execution of Dr. Jose Rizal] (1896 A.D.)
Image by Rudy E. Escoto
(really final poem of Dr Rizal in Spanish language, year 1896.)
"Adios, Patria adorada, area del sol querida,
Perla del Mar de Oriente, nuestro perdido Eden!
A darte voy alegre la triste mustia vida,
Y fuera más brillante más fresca, más florida,
Tambien por tí la diera, la diera por tu bien.
En campos de batalla, luchando con delirio
Otros te dan sus vidas sin dudas, sin pesar
El sitio nada importa, ciprés, laurel ó lirio,
Cadalso ó campo abierto, combate ó cruel martirio,
Lo mismo es si lo piden la patria y el hogar.
Yo muero cuando veo que el cielo se colora
Y al fin anuncia el día trás lóbrego capuz
Si grana necesitas para teñir tu aurora,
Vierte la sangre mía, derrámala en buen hora
Y dórela un reflejo de su naciente luz.
Mis sueños cuando apenas muchacho adolescente,
Mis sueños cuando joven ya lleno de vigor,
Fueron el verte un día, joya del mar de oriente
Secos los negros ojos, alta la tersa frente,
Sin ceño, sin arrugas, sin manchas de rubor.
Ensueño de mi vida, mi ardiente vivo anhelo,
Salud te grita el alma que pronto va á partir!
Salud! ah que es hermoso caer por darte vuelo,
Morir por darte vida, morir bajo tu cielo,
Y en tu encantada tierra la eternidad dormir.
Si sobre mi sepulcro vieres brotar un dia
Entre la espesa yerba sencilla, humilde flor,
Acércala a tus labios y besa al alma mía,
Y sienta yo en mi frente bajo la tumba fría
De tu ternura el soplo, de tu hálito el calor.
Deja á la luna verme con luz tranquila y suave
Deja que el alba envíe su resplandor fugaz,
Deja gemir al viento con su murmullo grave,
Y si desciende y posa sobre mi cruz un ave
Deja que el ave entone su cantico de paz.
Deja que el sol ardiendo las lluvias evapore
Y al cielo tornen puras con mi clamor en pos,
Deja que un sér amigo mi fin temprano llore
Y en las serenas tardes cuando por mi alguien ore
Ora tambien, Oh Patria, por mi descanso á Dios!
Ora por todos cuantos murieron sin ventura,
Por cuantos padecieron tormentos sin igual,
Por nuestras pobres madres que gimen su amargura
Por huérfanos y viudas, por presos en tortura
Y ora por tí que veas tu redencion final.
Y cuando en noche oscura se envuelva el cementerio
Y solos sólo muertos queden velando allí,
No turbes su reposo, no turbes el misterio
Tal vez acordes oigas de citara ó salterio,
Soy yo, querida Patria, yo que te canto á ti.
Y cuando ya mi tumba de todos olvidada
No tenga cruz ni piedra que marquen su lugar,
Deja que la are el hombre, la esparza con la azada,
Y mis cenizas antes que vuelvan á la nada,
El polvo de tu alfombra que vayan á formar.
Entonces nada importa me pongas en olvido,
Tu atmósfera, tu espacio, tus valles cruzaré,
Vibrante y limpia nota seré para tu oido,
Aroma, luz, colores, rumor, canto, gemido
Constante repitiendo la esencia de mi fé.
Mi Patria idolatrada, dolor de mis dolores,
Querida Filipinas, oye el postrer adios.
Ahi te dejo todo, mis padres, mis amores.
Voy donde no hay esclavos, verdugos ni opresores,
Donde la fé no mata, donde el que reyna es Dios.
Adios, padres y hermanos, trozos del alma mía,
Amigos de la infancia en el perdido hogar,
Dad gracias que descanso del fatigoso día
Adios, dulce extrangera, mi amiga, mi alegria,
Adios, queridos séres morir es descansar. "
(English Translation, My Final Farewell (translation adapted from 1 by Edwin Lozada)
"Farewell, beloved Country, treasured region of the sun,
Pearl of the sea of the Orient, our vanquished Eden!
To you I gladly surrender this melancholy life
And were it brighter, fresher, gaudier,
Even then I’d give it to you, to you alone would then I give.
In fields of battle, deliriously fighting,
Other people give you their lives, with no doubt, with out regret
Exactly where there’s cypress, laurel or lily,
On a plank or open field, in combat or cruel martyrdom,
If the property or nation asks, it really is all the same–it matters not.
I die when I see the sky unfurls its colors
And at final right after a cloak of darkness announces the day
If you need scarlet to tint your dawn,
Paint with my blood, pour it as the moment comes,
And could it be gilded by a reflection of the heaven’s new-born light.
My dreams, even as a youngster,
My dreams, when a young man in the prime of life,
Have been to see you one day, jewel of the eastern seas,
Dry these dark eyes, raise that forehead higher,
Without having frown, with out wrinkle, with no stain of shame.
My lifelong dream, my deep burning desire,
Is for this soul that will quickly depart to cry out: Salud!
To your health! Oh how gorgeous to fall to give you flight,
To die to give you life, to rest beneath your sky,
And in your enchanted land forever sleep.
If upon my grave one day you might behold,
Amidst the dense grass, a straightforward lowly flower,
Spot it upon your lips, and my soul you’ll kiss,
And on my brow might I really feel, beneath the cold tomb,
The tenderness of your touch, the warmth of your breath.
Let the moon see me in soft and tranquil light,
Let the dawn burst forth its fleeting radiance,
Let the wind moan with its gentle murmur,
And should a bird descend and rest on my cross,
Let it sing its canticle of peace.
Let the burning sun evaporate the rain,
And with the struggle behind, towards the sky may they turn pure
Let a buddy mourn my early demise,
And in the serene afternoon, when a person prays for me,
O Country, pray that God will also grant me rest!
Pray for all the unfortunate ones who died,
For all who suffered torment unequaled,
For grieving mothers who in bitterness cry,
For orphans and widows, for prisoners in torture,
And for yourself to see your redemption at final.
And when the burial ground is shrouded in dark evening,
And there alone, only the departed remain in vigil,
Disturb not their rest, nor their secrets,
And need to you hear chords from a zither or harp,
‘Tis I, O land beloved, ’tis I, to you I sing !
And when my grave, then by all forgotten,
has not a cross nor stone to mark its location,
Let males plow and with a spade disperse it,
And ahead of my ashes return to nothing,
May they be the dust that carpets your fields.
Then nothing at all matters, cast me in oblivion.
Your air, your space, your valleys I will cross.
I will be vibrant music to your ears,
Aroma, light, colors, murmur, moan, and song,
Ever echoing the essence of my faith.
Land that I adore, sorrow of my sorrows,
Adored Filipinas, hear my last great-bye.
There I leave you all, my parents, my beloved.
I go exactly where there are no slaves, hangmen nor oppressors,
Where faith does not kill, where the one particular who reigns is God.
Goodbye, dear parents, brother and sisters, fragments of my soul,
Childhood pals in the residence now gone,
Give thanks that I rest from this wearisome day
Goodbye, sweet stranger, my buddy, my joy
Farewell, loved ones. To die is to rest. "
Die casting
Image by revdode
Die casting is hardly ever (before this pay a visit to I would have mentioned ever) clean and normally the interior of casting halls are dirty, badly lit and generally a tiny hellish.