Your cry rose
above the silence of the graves.
It searched, in the deepest recesses of souls,
for the will surrendered to fear.
You called us to imagine:
families without fear,
avocado fields without bloodshed,
mountain villages without death.
You rose like a belligerent trumpet
against the lethargy of hearts.
But paradise is closer.
As the only answer
to your cry for justice,
seven bullets sought your life.
And they achieved their cowardly goal.
Now, for themselves, they reclaim you,
those who in life never spoke your name.
They promise the justice they denied you.
Your cry rose…
but it will rise no more.
Your silence joins the silence of the dead.
Photography by Fernando Vasquez Gutiérrez
