When was the last time you read a poem?
Bayjoo is not just about providing you with good feelings through delicious flavors and quality ingredients, but it's also about offering an experience that transcends the sensory realm. We invite you to enjoy our drinks while reading a poem or two that will expand your mind and ignite your imagination.
Poems by Latinx Writers
"I Sell My Dreams" by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
I sell my dreams, and buy lamentations.
I sow my sorrows, and reap strangers.
I love the love that was never mine,
and cry for the love that I once had.
I fear the truth that I always tell,
and hear the lies that I always hide.
I talk of freedom that I never had,
and dream of life that I never lived.
"Una Mujer Está Sola" by Aida Cartagena Portalatín
Una mujer está sola. Sola con su estatura.
Con los ojos abiertos. Con los brazos abiertos.
Con el corazón abierto como un silencio ancho.
Espera en la desesperada y desesperante noche
sin perder la esperanza.
Piensa que está en el bajel almirante
con la luz más triste de la creación
Ya izó velas y se dejó llevar por el viento del Norte
con la figura acelerada ante los ojos del amor.
Una mujer está sola. Sujetando con sus sueños sus sueños,
los sueños que le restan y todo el cielo de Antillas.
Seria y callada frente al mundo que es una piedra humana,
móvil, a la deriva, perdido el sentido
de la palabra propia, de su palabra inútil.
Una mujer está sola. Piensa que ahora todo es nada
y nadie dice nada de la fiesta o el luto
de la sangre que salta, de la sangre que corre,
de la sangre que gesta o muere en la muerte.
Nadie se adelanta ofreciéndole un traje
para vestir una voz que desnuda solloza deletreándose.
Una mujer está sola. Siente, y su verdad se ahoga
en pensamientos que traducen lo hermoso de la rosa,
de la estrella, del amor, del hombre y de Dios.
"Loose Woman" by Sandra Cisneros
They say I'm a beast. And feast on it.
When all along I thought that's what a woman was.
They say I'm a bitch. Or witch. I've claimed the same and never winced.
They say I'm a macha, hell on wheels, viva la causa.
I laugh, and set my glittering eyes on the prize.
Man-killer? Death on two legs?
You see me woman. I see myself human.
They see me strong, dependent, assertive and capable
and so they heap on the labels -- I don't quite fit their picture of woman.
They see me as sex, a soulless machine used for satisfaction and reproduction.
A tool to be owned and used without thought without feeling.
They say I'm different. A case apart. A freak of nature.
A mistake. A misunderstanding.
But I'm a woman, honey.
I am the moon and the moonlight too.
I am a flower, a river, I am the world.
I am a witch, a bitch, the creature your mother warned you about.
I am a woman who burned her bra one time,
only to find she needed it to keep herself warm in the cold.
I am a woman, honey.
The first woman to suckle her children with warm milk from her own body,
the first woman to cradle humanity in her arms and sing it to sleep.
I am a woman, honey. And I am still alive.
"Untitled" by Sheila Encarnacion Castillo