A Silent Death
Rivers often seem eternal: they are not. The Parana River, which crosses through Brazil, Paraguay and Argentina is diminishing. Every day, for about two or three decades, the river has slowly disappeared. Actions such as building dams, overfishing, taking the dried wetlands and converting them into fields and building cities are threatening the life of the Parana River. Businesses, governments and industries have appropriated it, privatized it and transformed the river into a big business, all at the expense of the river.
"And the fish, who had had half of a life, was so little."
The eviction was killing them, because they had nothing to do, they lost themselves.
So you're so tired, your tongue hurts, your ideas hurt.
Everyone digs to remove the water, semiburied, lighting the vipers on fire, clubbing the vermin, while thirsty, while hungry, with mud on their bodies.
The pioneers stood in the door of the boxes and waited. One began to sharpen machetes. Another walked in with a large stick.
When they lived on the river, everyone knew that Yacyretá, someday, was going to flood.
The doors are curtains. The light, bulbs that hang from the ceiling. The floor, the land.
What did you come here to find? The death?
And I do not fade, not even a moment.
And they keep fighting: for the running water, for the asphalt, for a medical room, for all the things they are never going to have.
Let themselves die, nothing more.