Tiwanaku

The wind blows over the landIt blows over birth and deathThe wind blows over the landIt blows through all the bordersof everything that lives on this landforgetting word rootsforgetting memoriesforgetting banishmentsforgetting bloodIt seems this place only believes in forgettingBut for centuriesthere’s been an undeniable reality hereIn the mountains and deep canyonsone, two, tens of millions of Indigenous Americanswalk in lonelinessTheir somber faces are streakedwith tears and silenceI know where they are going,to a place where memories and life are revereda place where countless noble souls are headingI know that when stars embellish the skycrimes are concealed by the sky’s canopyI can’t say for sure if, in moments like these,the Gate of the Sunopens again at midnight for the sacrificesTiwanaku, navel of Indigenous land,please allow me to weep todayfor the return of a People’s vitality