We are made of futures as much as pasts
Of the future as much as the present
Of revolts and lights as much as fears
Of senseless defeats and triumphs
Because it’s always me who I bring to my knees
And always me on my knees
No front can bear the laurels of an absolute victor
We carry defeat at the end of our sword
Because we are all beings at the same time
Under a single sky – unique – which runs like a plain to the unwavering horizon
And in his forge, morning and evening
The future works patiently
He works without our knowledge
The future builds our face and our heart
It is in our hands, the beating heart of our soul
He is the breath and face of our heirs
He is their innocence and their voice
That I perceive in the depths of my being
When I think of this long – and deceptive – journey
Why would I burden their days with resentment and hatred
We are made of the future as much as the past
And nothing can change this order
Neither wars nor joys are limited to any continent of the past
And nothing is a triumph
Nothing makes man grow
Neither the immense lands nor the just wars that he carries within him
When he forgets that he is made of the future as much as the past
And that he no longer knows what the symbols and signs that he himself forged in the silence which preceded his outburst mean
