Once
upon a time there was a green island
the shape of a crocodile
where, as the old people said, the sun was born…
…
and where a serene and wise people
once wanted to build a country -
and voted for the independence.
Then
foreign soldiers came,
the same that twenty four years before
had occupied the land
had stolen the people's destiny
and at the service of their powerful leaders
had killed and massacred,
putting out the sun and bringing with them
a night that seemed long,
as long as death.
And
once more they burnt
and killed and massacred.
And
the people escaped to their mother-coloured mountains.
The
days went by, they seemed like months.
When the world no longer could bear
the pain and shame of doing nothing
and after many filling the streets in their own countries
screaming and crying for this small people…
…
the lords that rule the world
and give orders to generals
at last decided to send soldiers
to the island of the rising sun.
They
arrived on the 20th September,
many men with arms.
They
turned over the blood coloured earth
and made the soldiers of evil leave
and said the earth belonged to the people.
Little
by little, still fearfully,
the people came down from the mountains.
Old people and children, men and women
they came back sick and hungry
to the cities and small villages,
to the fields of the green ruined paradise.
Out
of the blue they started then
to build a new country.
And
the sun was born again.
