For those who could not attend Mass for the solidarity lay Eduardo Galeano celebrated this week in Madrid, one of the events of the Week for the cooperation, we have dedicated this poem, essential as all his words:
Fleas dream of buying a dog, and nobodies dream of escaping poverty, that one magical day suddenly rain down good luck, it pours good luck;
but good luck does not rain yesterday or today , tomorrow, or never, drizzle falls from the sky good luck, even that no one calls and although they chop the left hand or lift the right foot, or start the new year getting a broom.
The nobodies: nobody's children, owners of nothing.
The nobodies: the no, the no, running like rabbits, dying through life, screwed rejodidos:
Who are not, but could be.
Do not speak languages, but dialects.
Not religions, but superstitions.
It do not make art, but handicrafts.
Do not have culture, but folklore.
Who are not human beings, but human resources.
Do not have faces, but arms.
Do not have a name, but numbers.
not listed in world history, but in the crime reports in the local press.
The nobodies, that cost less than the bullet that kills them.
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