In Alta Verapaz it has been raining almost for a whole day, non stop. Maybe the sky is crying what I haven't been able to. It cries to see how we kill each other, how we ignore, how we forget. It's crying about Ayotzinapa, Ferguson, Nigeria, Syria, Palestine, Guatemala... It's crying for the kids murdered by whites that use unpunished bullets of racism. It's crying for the women dismembered by a macho. It's crying over the pieces of massacred colored people. It's crying over the young life that was left in potential alone when it was disappeared. It's crying for the ones that migrate and are executed next to walls.
It's not a drizzle. It's a shock storm, it is violent, frustrated. It is tears of pain, hopelessness, rage.
En Alta Verapaz ha llovido casi un día entero, sin parar. Tal vez el cielo está llorando todo lo que yo no he podido. Está llorando al ver cómo nos matamos, cómo nos ignoramos y nos olvidamos. Está llorando por Ayotzinapa, Ferguson, Nigeria, Siria, Palestina, Guatemala... Está llorando por los niños asesinados por blancos que usan balas impunes de racismo. Está llorando por las mujeres descuartizadas por el macho. Está llorando sobre los pedazos de personas de color masacradas. Está llorando por la vida joven que se quedó sólo en potencial al ser desaparecida. Está llorando por los que migran y son ejecutados junto a muros.
No es una llovizna, es tormenta de choque, es violenta, frustrada. Son lágrimas de dolor, de desesperanza, de rabia.
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