Carta de Un Minero a Manuel Llaneza

The sun dies and the afternoon as I climb the road to the cemetery
To leave some flowers, a letter, a complaint, and maybe a prayer
The afternoon brings memories of those times
And I hear the murmur of the black river.

You know that a miner, if not pushed, is never a warrior,
You know we shout because we're tired of being small,
Of old dogs inventing battles
Who just yesterday put on new collars. (*)

Since you left, Manuel Llaneza,
Since you left, there's only silence.

You know that in the pit, shoveling dirt, we only think
About the woman and the kid, and working like donkeys to support them,
So the pit doesn't close if I can help it,
Because your father was a miner for that reason.

You know that the rags in our house need to be washed
And we fight every day for things to change their state
And I don't lend myself to outside voices
So they can win their glory with our effort.

You were a good neighbor and earned glory through your work
And to serve justice, you didn't carry stones or sticks in your hand
We have plenty of strange songs
And we lack your hand to guide us.