2018.12.29.
His Voice Will Not Be Silenced
In the stadium in Chile,Honor was put in prison
By the jackals in uniform,
Servants of the Yankee oppressor.
Amid the confusion,
A voice was soon heard.
It was the voice of the poet,
The singer of the revolution.
Victor Jara was this voice,
The voice of fields and sweat,
Who sang to his brothers,
Filling them with bravery.
A vulture appeared
In a shining uniform
With stripes on the lapel,
And sent for the voice,
His hands, and his guitar.
Pushing him, they brought him
To the bloodthirsty animal,
Who, with his axe in his hand,
Cut off the man's fingers,
Believing that in this way,
He would silence his song.
Later hits rained down,
Insults and gobs of spit,
And the raptors...good God!
Took out their anger
On the poet-singer
Who suffered, having collapsed.
Reduced to a wreck,
He shakily sat up
With his mutilated fingers
And his bleeding heart,
While that vulture of an officer,
Pushing him violently, said,
'Sing! Now sing!
If you still have some bravery left in you!'
Silence flooded the stadium
As they saw the singer bleeding
And heard his roaring voice:
'Let's see, comrades,
Let's make the man happy!'
And a chorus of many voices
Began to haughtily sing
A song of a free Chile,
In its Popular Unity.
The vicious murderers
Were unable to handle
The man who, even in his death throes
They could not vanquish completely.
And the servile shrapnel,
With its deadly sting,
Tore through guts and gore,
Stealing the last breath
From the poet, the man, the singer,
An exemplar of bravery
Who, in front of his people,
Died defending his nation.
Victor Jara was that voice,
The voice of fields and sweat,
Who sang to his brothers,
Filling them with bravery.