In their own words
parchment

A poem written by a former captive

For my part, I could want nothing more

than to mitigate the anxiety and pain of this absence,

to be able to explain to them that I don't die a little each day,

like they might think,

when what happens to me here is the complete opposite.

Every day is one day less, every day I am more alive,

every day I feel more deeply how difficult it is to be Colombia.

I could want nothing more than to tell them that here, I do not die.

crying

A poem written by a survivor of kidnapping

They will tell me to forget,

that time will be easily recovered.

But who will heal the days of my absence?

To whom does the task of gathering the tears

and mending the shatterd souls belong?

Who will know how to explain coherently

so many days, lost and confused?

Who will return the long days of insomnia

to deliver them to sleep?

Who will dare to explain to my children that,

without having committed any offense,

I was absent so many days?

So do not ask me to forget

as if nothing had ever happened.

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