Minas Piedras (en inglés)

Minas Piedras
They are ways of ways
where the stones are the mines
that are breaking bones
of the land that complains
making the hope invalid
The sweet voice of a child
returns in the storm
of an uncontrollable
weeping of visceral
pains that does not understand the innocence.
The trees are crying
Are witnesses of so many
years of violence
the sea this brown
mixture of blood with the land.
But there it comes going down the mountain
with the hope
The mothers who come for his children, and
that his books
for the school are his dream.
But there they come going down
the mountain with the hope
men and children badly injured
looking for asylum , looking for a site
to dream and to love.
We do not deserve the oblivion.
We are the voice of the people,
says a gentleman sat
with his blind bandaged eyes
but that still has the hope in his hands.
The trees are crying
are witnesses of so many
years of violence
the sea this brown
mixture of blood with the land.