My mourning will not be muted
Nor will it be resigned
It will be tall and strong
Rebellious and fine
Nor will it be dark
It will be red and in combat
Born from all that have fallen.
My mourning doesn't stay indoors
For my place is out there in the world
My mourning is 500 years old(1)
And is older yet
When at daybreak
I cast my eye back over history
When I dream of butterflies
And of marguerites.
1
Editor's note: A reference to the 500 years of the Discovery of Brazil by the Portuguese in 1500. The commemorative year
brought a great amount of questioning, especially by the dispossessed, not only of the Portuguese 'invasion' and
colonization, which represented for them exclusion and dispossession, but also a great number of protests against the
commemoration itself.
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