Yesterday in the midst of studying for exams, i was hit with inspiration. Sparked by a connection that I made with a group of Roma people in Hamilton on Saturday. Lunik 9 was the subject of the event, the largest refugee slum in Europe, more then 500 Roma people living in unbearable conditions. It was Culture Conversations 3rd event, but this time while Carlos took pictures, i felt a deep connection with the family we were taking pictures of , their heavy hearts transmitted something into my heart, it reminded me of El Salvador. This piece came out of my heart, almost perusing me to uncover, my heart of hearts, to top it all off i realized that today is the anniversary of The Massacre of El Mozote, one of the most devastating crimes of the El Salvadorean civil war. The way this piece relates so directly to what happened in El Mozote and continues to happen around the world amazes me, the Spirit continues to make me long for Justice and this is proof of it.
at the sound of a wooden flute
I am on the deserted path
i keep stretching through the highest of trees
needing the Sunlight
from the loneliness of the forgotten echoes of yesterday
my heart beats, thump thump thump
joy unravels the veins and particles of what im holding so close
i have been summoned to give in, to disarm
my Creator, whispers more Wind then roots into me, swaying from the east to the west
the sunset kisses me as we embrace
the sun drenched land, crackling through my feet
searching for anything that looks familiar, a pot, a spoon, a necklace, a vase
all i see are broken pieces
where have my people gone?
silence
silence
i keep stepping over my words, i don't remember what they sound like
na hu a? nahua?
a language that we gave the land of the Savior
El Salvador do you remember?
silence
silence
the essence of peace has left my land
as the birds no longer sing, and the waters are stilled
Creator, i hold my arms outstretched, will you tell me where to fly next?
I carry a people in my Voice
I hold a memory that was stolen
I carry a people in my Voice
i see those that were born from my people suffer
the land is infertile, Mother groans for there is no fruit, the people are unable to cultivate, the tyrant has stolen from them
the children are naked, the grandmothers are left behind
and the fathers and sons have been disappeared and killed
I carry a people in my Voice
a language that we gave to the land of the Savior
El Salvador do you remember?
The Wind whispers the Creators desire to me
I have given you the ocean, swoon it with your sharp gaze
I have given you the Harvest, it is sprouting out of your hands
I have given you the Land let it reform itself under the heat of your heart
You are my beautiful, perfect creation, i will continue to liberate you from under the possession.
I remember your language, i see your people
Walking down the streets of a modern San Salvador, i see the echo of my people in the gaze of the campesino
I see the destiny of my people in the children, that sing freely
The strength and kindness of the Creator in the hands of mothers
tired but valiant the mother continues to rise every morning.
May the suns fire never turn away from us, may it remind us of the ancient peoples of Latin America
the water that breathes, the wheat that has risen- it continues to sway through the earth rebuilding, replanting.
this land is mine it is yours
I carry a people in my voice
a language that we gave the land of the Savior
El Salvador do you remember?
