I happen to be tired of being a human. I happen to enter shops and spend all my...I happen to be tired of my feet and my nails and my hair and my shadow. I happen to be tired of being a human. That is why the beginning of the week burns like petroleum when it sees me coming with my prisión face, and it howls in its transit like a wounded wheel, and it takes hot-blooded steps toward the night.

Put aside
your mantles of mourning,
join all
your tears until you make them metal;
for there we strike by day and night,
there we kick by day and by night,
there we spit by day and by night
until the doors of hatred fall !

I do not forget your bombs,
I know how send them,
and if I am proud of their deaths,
I am also proud of their lives.

Are there hope ?