Legend of the Flamboyant

Today, in our ongoing series of poems by Pedro Rodríguez Miranda, my grandfather-in-law, we feature his thirteenth poem, “Legend of the Flamboyant.” This will be the last poem from his “Young Love” series before moving on to his “Love Poems in Old Age.” Before proceeding with the poem, I want to define some words found in it and include a couple of pictures to enhance the experience.

The first word is “Borincan” (or “borincanas” or “boricanos” in Spanish), a demonym derived from “Borikén,” “Boriquén,” or “Borinquen,” the indigenous Taíno name for Puerto Rico. In Puerto Rico, we understand “boricua” and “borincano (a)” as terms for Puerto Rican (Puertorriqueño (a) in Spanish).1

“Carib”. The Kalinago, formerly known as Island Caribs or simply Caribs, are an Indigenous people of the Lesser Antilles in the Caribbean. According to the tales of Spanish conquistadors, the Caribs were cannibals but there no hard evidence to support that claim.2

“Gurabo“, originally known as Burabo (a Taíno word that means “fertile valley”), is a town located just 25 minutes from San Juan.3

“Batey” was the name given to a special plaza around which the Taíno built their settlements. It was usually a rectangular area surrounded by stones with carved symbols (petroglyphs). The batey was the area in which events (e.g. ceremonies, the ball game, etc.) took place.4

Batey – By Geoff Gallice – Flickr: Parque Ceremonial Indigena de Caguana, CC BY 2.0

Below is a picture of a Flamboyant Tree from the town where I grew up, for those who are not familiar with this beautiful tree.

Flamboyán tree, Juana Diaz, PR by Edgar Torres, CC BY 3.0
Leyenda del Flamboyán

Este era un jefe indio enamorado
Que habitaba las selvas borincanas;
Era un joven y apuesto guerrillero,
Tan bravo cual su padre, Gurabana.

En las batallas en que había peleado,
Luchó Gurabasol con valentía,
Derrotando al carnívoro Caribe
Más de una vez en lucha decisiva.

Una tarde hermosa en que el indio cazaba, 
Se encontró en el monte la india Marasana,
Quedando prendado de la niña altiva,
Hija de Guerana, de tribu enemiga.

Enemigo aguerrido era Guerana
Del bravo del Gurabo, Gurabana,
Que nunca había perdido una batalla,
Por lo cual era grande su fama.

Cuando supo Guerana que su hija
Por un hombre enemigo suspiraba,
Se puso airado, y juntó su grey,
Y consejo de guerra celebraron,
Jurando sus hombres pelear
Hasta que fuera muerto el indio del Gurabo.

Comenzó la batalla aquella noche
Y aún al otro día se peleaba;
Gurabasol estaba en todos sitios
Y aunque bravo, gran tristeza su cara reflejaba.

Por fin menguaba la tribu del Gurabo
Por la furia del odio derrotada;
Sólo quedaba Gurabasol, el bravo,
Luchando contra mil indios gueranos…

Aquella noche, al cantar el gallo,
Cayó el último hombre desangrado,
Veinte flechas clavadas en el pecho,
Otras veinte clavadas en la espalda…

Todo era silencio en la mañana…
En el batey, todo rojo, no había un alma;
Sólo los muertos insepultos del Gurabo
El sueño de los justos descansaban.

Un sollozo, a la distancia, un grito…
Era el llanto de la india enamorada
Que en el bosque encontró a su indio amado.
Y arrancando las flechas con ternura,
Cada herida con lágrimas lavaba,
Aunque muy tarde, porque el indio amado,
Entre sus tiernos brazos ya expiraba.

Y cuenta las leyendas que la india
Aquel lugar funesto frecuentaba
Todas las noches, y hablaba con la sombra
Del indio que murió por adorarla…

Y nació con el tiempo un flamboyán
En el sitio que la india visitaba,
Y cuentan que el árbol por la noches
Lloraba tristemente sus amores,
Y dicen que la india recogía
Sus lágrimas de sangre, que eran flores.

Por eso el flamboyán cuando florece,
Por todas partes sus pétalos derrama,
Para que siga recogiendo flores,
Su indiecita adorada, Marasana.
Legend of the Flamboyant

There was an enamored Indian chief

Who dwelled in the Borincan jungles;

He was a young and handsome warrior,

As brave as his father, Gurabana.

In the battles he had fought,

Gurabasol fought valiantly,

Defeating the carnivorous Carib

More than once in decisive combat.

One beautiful afternoon while the Indian was hunting,

He encountered the Indian Marasana in the mountains,

Becoming captivated by the proud girl,

Daughter of Guerana, from an enemy tribe.

Guerana was a fierce enemy

Of the brave man from Gurabo, Gurabana,

Who had never lost a battle,

For which his fame was great.

When Guerana learned that his daughter

Was sighing for an enemy man,

He grew furious and gathered his people,

And held a war council,

His men swore to fight

Until the Indian from Gurabo was dead.

The battle began that night

And still raged the next day;

Gurabasol was everywhere,

And though brave, his face reflected great sorrow.

At last, the Gurabo tribe dwindled,

Defeated by the fury of hatred;

Only Gurabasol, the brave one, remained,

Fighting against a thousand Guerano Indians…

That night, at the rooster's crow,

The last man fell, bleeding out,

Twenty arrows pierced his chest,

Another twenty pierced his back…

All was silent in the morning...

In the batey, all red, there was not a soul;

Only the unburied dead of Gurabo

Rested in the sleep of the righteous.

A sob, in the distance, a cry...

It was the weeping of the enamored Indian woman

Who found her beloved Indian in the forest.

And tenderly pulling out the arrows,

She washed each wound with her tears,

Though too late, for her beloved Indian,

In her tender arms, was already dying.

And the legends say that the Indian woman

Frequently visited that fateful place

Every night, speaking with the shadow

Of the Indian who died for loving her…

And in time, a flamboyant tree grew

In the place the Indian woman visited,

And they say that at night the tree

Mourned its love sadly,

And they say the Indian woman would gather

Its blood-red tears, which were flowers.

That’s why, when the flamboyant blooms,

It scatters its petals everywhere,

So that his beloved little Indian, Marasana,

Can continue gathering flowers.

Translated by Edward Ortiz
Previous Poems:
1. Young Love
2. To Jelly
3. Message of Love
4. Subtle Dream
5. Honeymoon Journey
6. That is Love
7. Nostalgia
8. Sad Christmas
9. A Verse for You
10. You Arrived
11. Letter to My Wife
12. To the Colón Park of Aguadilla

About the Author:

Pedro Rodríguez Miranda was born in Aguadilla, Puerto Rico, on 22 February 1930. He completed his primary and secondary education in Puerto Rico before moving to New York City to attend college when the Korean War started. He joined the Marine Corps and served four years, completing his enlistment and receiving an honorable discharge. After his service, he returned to New York City and attended college, receiving his Bachelor’s degree in Business Administration. Upon graduation, he worked for the city until 1965 when he returned to Puerto Rico. He worked as a high school teacher in Aguadilla and completed his second Bachelor’s degree in Secondary Education from the University of Puerto Rico – Mayagüez.

  1. https://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anexo:Gentilicios_de_Puerto_Rico#Referencias ↩︎
  2. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kalinago ↩︎
  3. https://www.discoverpuertorico.com/regions/metro/gurabo#!grid~~~random~1 ↩︎
  4. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Batey_(game) ↩︎

65 thoughts on “Legend of the Flamboyant”

    1. Thank you, Michele. The part when she was weeping, and then how she visited the place frequently to gather the tears of her beloved, is what moved me the most. It’s just incredible how he visualized that and then wrote it. Fantastic! The only thing I lament is that I didn’t have the opportunity to tell Pedro how awesome and impactful his writing was.

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      1. Yes, that was an emotional section. Made me think of the bloodshed at Picacho Peak in Arizona during the Civil War – yellow poppies grow there now. Beautiful if you can land there during the spring when the flowers are blooming. I can understand your lament.

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  16. A wonderful poetic chronicle of a sad and at the same time beautiful, timeless story. Reading this, one can appreciate even more the grace of a blossoming Flamboyán tree. A grace that Pedro describes superbly. Thank you, Edward, for sharing these gems with the world! It enriches us all! *Lots of light and blessings to you, my friend*

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  18. Wow! This story is amazing and what a beautiful tree. You feel for them all. Even her father who had such hatred he couldn’t let his daughter share her love. Her love may have died but he still had her heart. How powerful is that?

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  23. Absolutely Beautiful 🇵🇷🤗❤ – My Moms favorite Tree is the Flamboyan. Thank you for this. I am going to read this to her when I call her in a few days.

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