When the first glare of the sun comes in through my bedroom window, I rise with gratitude for another day. Every day I try to do something that remains as a legacy, a poem, a drawing, a song, a speech, a hug,
I share the brightness of the day.
My country lives a moment where culture is underestimated, Indians lose their autonomy in their lands, young people and men are murdered for being black, children are shot in the street, inside their homes, they die with shots without culprits. religious and gender diversity is neglected and violence is the weapon used for people to equal as clay pots. There are several groups that struggle to survive in my country: women are brutally murdered by their husbands or partners, the water that is the greatest good of humanity in my state is polluted by the negligence of managers and one of the greatest thinkers of education, Professor Paulo Freire is disqualified and underestimated by current politics. My country is in an identity chaos, where everything is done to weaken people and exult power.
It is necessary to hope to change. Mine is poetry, the illustrations I make depicting what they want to hide and the music that I insist on singing. My hope is that there will be a change in such dictating thoughts and that the history of my country will give the people of my country the right to be happy, without censorship in the arts, the people fed, with their health taken care of, with the schools functioning and the children learning and that the helicopter that now targets the people of the favela and brings daily horror to life, come only in the month of December bringing Santa Claus and gifts to the joy of the children and their families. However, my greatest hope is to be heard, and the means of communication of the networks and the strength of words and letters have an important role to echo in the world.
How good that much of my hope was born with the strength of my voice in the worlpulse.