They cannot hush the people's cry,
nor youth’s bright laughter in the air.
Grief does not make evil die,
and coffins make no darkness fair.
Your chords of freedom rise and soar,
calling the brave with every breath—
for those who show no mercy, cower
before hearts unafraid of death.
Hope will never hold its tongue,
it rises like a child’s pure song.
Revenge can’t break where it belongs,
nor hammers right what’s always wrong.
The wise shall speak their truth once more,
cry justice for the poor, unheard—
so dignity may be restored
and raise his hat with prideful word.
Let not your voice be dimmed or lost,
may strength unite the people's soul.
And may the farmer raise his scythe,
awaiting nature’s fruitful goal.
— Jesús Hernando Camacho Mosquera
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