Signs and laments pave the streets,
with a cry for Justice and
tears of the victims and their families
hold still like in slow motion.
Is Justice truly blind?
We, the People, are judged by our origin.
Actions are supposed to do our talking, but prejudice
and injustice steals our voices.
Suffocated we search for air,
with our signs and silent cries.
We the People
die
not free
and persecuted by those
that redefine the borders
of our humanity.
And while we wait in
uncertainty our shattered hearts
in pieces cry for the loss of
our loved ones.
The happy neighbor.
The waiter that always greets you with a warm smile.
The gardener that tends to your favorite flowers,
The father that helps with the school projects,
The mother stands in the rain to help kids cross the street.
The friend that helps you move.
The lover that holds you warmly.
We, the People. We are here.
Tall, short, fat, skinny, and everything in between.
Streets will flood with our voices and
bright signs.
A protest for human dignity,
A cry for family
One more, “Si se puede!” and another. “We are here, and we are staying.”
Because after all,
We are the People.
