JULIO CÉSAR HOYOS - BARRANQUILLA (COLOMBIA)
Listen... somebody groans.
COLOMBIA... why do you cry, my homeland?
Your children love you, your symbols worship
and proud we are of being Colombian.
Some they love me,
other they revile me,
the blood of my children runs to streams,
the rich one dies, dies the poor person, the boy and the old man,
the soldier and the policeman,
the guerilla fighter and the paramilitary one:
ALL DIE.
The condor of my shield,
audacious as my race,
left the heaths to survey the plain
and he didn't return,
as the peasante doesn't return
that abandons their parcel,
and, do you still ask me why I cry?
