Don't Try
Don’t try,
why bother,
if nothing has changed
and nothing seems like it ever will?
Hope is only a word in the dictionary.
We’ve lost countless battles against Big Brother
the one who at first seduced the masses,
promised streets of gold, towers of diamond,
and rivers of black oil
buried deep in the entrails of our land.
Like a prophet, he rose to the highest peak of power,
but, like all, he shed the lamb’s disguise
and revealed the ferocious wolf
the one who keeps captive the innocent girl,
her skin the color of the llanos at dusk,
who only wanted to make the person she loved most happy.
He throws us crumbs
from his palaces of gold,
built upon soil now soaked in blood.
He forged his throne from bones.
His favorite music: the chorus of silenced voices.
Fear is the new currency of the nation,
and hunger, his most loyal army.
He shouts from his balcony:
“Don’t try! This is the best there is.
I am generous, I give you everything and more.”
Faithful lambs applaud, falling into a trance with his words
listening intently, blind to everything else.
If they ever wake, it will be worse:
the nightmare disguised as fiction
they are still living
will become unbearable.
But some refuse to listen
to the favorite mantra of oppression:
“Don’t try.”
And still, we are here.
Beaten, yes. Tired, yes.
But we know all empires fall,
even those that cast the darkest shadow
beyond their own borders.
And the spark of fire
that will burn them down
is about to be lit.
Because although they stole so much from us,
they never managed to silence
the secret rumor in the streets
that murmur, that grows, that multiplies,
that sooner or later will turn into a scream.
And then the girl will be free,
and we will once again believe
that it is still worth the fight.
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