I remember my father's face
like a hole in the wall,
bedsheets stained with mud,
a dirt floor.
My mother day and night working,
cries and screams.
Playing angel and devil
playing the son who will not be born,
candles always lit,
one must take refuge in something.
Where does the money come from
to pay the faith?
(Spoken:)
I do not remember that from the sky
a glorious harvest has fallen
nor that my mother had had
a little peace,
nor that my father had stopped
drinking.
(Sung:)
They scare the poor so much
so that they swallow all their pains
so that their misery is covered by images.
The moon is always very pretty
and the sun dies every evening.
So I want to shout:
I believe in nothing
except in the heat of your hand
with my hand,
so I want to shout:
I believe in nothing
except in the love
of human beings.
(Spoken:)
Who can silence the beat
of a heart throbbing
or the shout of a woman
bearing a child?
Who?