Friends, Comrades,

We have informed you about many horrible things here in Venezuela, and on a world scale.

However, emancipatory struggle has beautiful, poetic, encouraging contours, enjoy my Rembrandtesque cultural painting of Nature and Society, of me, and of you.

Emancipatory Poetry
By Franz J. T. Lee

Raindrops keep falling .....

1941. A dawn. What a morn!

Something is born. Mankind is
mourning. Europe is moaning,
groaning.

An inner, innermost, profound memory.
My first, conscious reflections.

It's raining, a soothing, smoothening,
natural music comes from somewhere,
from everywhere, from above, from the
zinc roof. Raindrops clash and crash
against the window pane. I enjoy how
they tremble, how they shiver, how they
quiver. Some creep down in long,
irregular lines. Some hide behind each
other. Others roll, storm ahead. I'm
fascinated; I am pondering, wondering,
learning.

In each one of them, mirrored, I see
zillions of flashes, beautiful images of a
fantastic world. I see many wonderful
worlds, new awakening worlds,
sparkling, silvery ones: some obscure
ones at rest, some bright ones in
motion. Some I cannot fathom, others I
cannot even describe.

Raindrops, raindrops, everywhere. Far
away, on the mountain slope, I see a
majestic rainbow. I dream about my pot
of golden gifts, but my pot has a
shadow, a strange reflection, a
multi-coloured lid. Does everything in
the world have a shadow? Do shadows
separate us? Are there worlds without
shadows?

Towards the other side, there, huge
mountains of shadows, of dark clouds
approach. Look, look. Each and
everyone has a silvery lining. What's
behind them? Behind all this? The Sun?
But, then ....

"Fransie, get away from the window,
you'll catch a cold."

Back to reality, to the world of do's and
don'ts; back to what to do and what not
to do.

That is a baby's question, the nuisance
that frustrates naissance, the nightmare
of a new-born.

Yet, never mind, I will never ever forget
my galaxies of magic worlds; I will
always long to hear my enchanting
music, to see my sparkling raindrops, to
sense my dark, silvery clouds, to feel
my gigantic rainbow again ... to touch
my cool glass pane.

Perhaps, one day, very, very soon, they
will return to me again, to all of us -
who knows, probably in the morn's
morn.

******

FROM REVOLUTION TO EMANCIPATION
FROM PRODUCTION TO CREATION
(Updating Charles Dickens, 1812 - 1870)

Neither was it the Best of times nor the Worst of times;
neither was it the age of Wisdom nor the age of Foolishness;
neither was it the epoch of Belief nor the epoch of Incredulity;
neither was it the season of Light nor the season of Darkness;
neither was it the spring of Hope nor the winter of Despair.
Neither had we Anything before us nor had we Nothing before us;
neither were we all going direct to Heaven nor were we all going direct the Other Way.

In short - it's the Dawn of transcendental, historic Emancipation;
it's the Aurora of Nature and Society, of History.
We are transcending, surpassing,
excelling what its noisiest authorities call Globalization.

-----oOo-----