They were drawing water from the sewer, looking for liquid with shit; I saw them. It was the Valley in Caracas, it was not in the Ribereña in Barquisimeto, nor the bypass 2 of the city of Maracaibo. It was on the hill below, without weapons, they only carried buckets, with anger and without direction. They were old men, mothers and daughters, and angry children.
Caracas is mutilated, hungry, resigned and trampled. There the police organized the tail of humiliation, to avoid the turbulence that goes to Miraflores, not the one that goes to the one next door. It was the oppressive vigilance that bends in misery, with a face of charity. The one that simulates empathy, with the hand in the handle, and the hunger in the stomach. It was fear of the one above and spit of the one below. Who created the stupid pop category? Maybe they were not themselves or we forgot.
It was 10:00 pm and there was a child waiting at the door for the compassion of the hotel manager. It cries and breaks inside. He sits on his pimpinas and asks me for help. He thought of his mother, pleading for her peace of mind. I saw it, I saw them all.
I saw my friend with two days without eating, crying with fear, anguished and without faith. I saw the one massacred by the repression, and the one who is imprisoned by torture. I saw them, and I heard the sociopath on national television and I stopped reasoning. As I also heard the "let's go good", and I stopped creating. When politics moves away from the telluric feeling, it becomes festive cruelty. When it becomes your only answer, the firm sustainability of insisting becomes incompetent.
In these moments I am broken ..., yes ...; because it is worth breaking. I'm very sad ... because it's worth falling. Maybe it's a mistake to say it and question me, or maybe it's my salvation. But I explain that being broken for me is a moment of libertarian recharge for the possibilities of continuing, and there will be days to get up, I do not doubt that I will. There is no doubt that we can all do it.
Written by Jhon A. Romero.-