In life thunder
genuine anguish for the choices, the tomorrow, the comrades, the struggle.
With sharp thoughts, forged in the bowels of personal labour and the movement.
With decisive acts, firm, flaming.
You showed with your life that the way of the revolutionary is to say little, to act with rage and devotion. With rage and conscience.
In your memory fists tighten…
Tears become weapons…
And the old Case becomes more imperative.
And in death a wolf
breath was enough for you, one decision and the iron will.
With the weapon in your hand and freedom in your eyes you chased your dreams to the end.
As you lived, this is how you left. Wild and free.
When revolutionaries die
they are not lost
They ride a star and draw courses of freedom in the indefinite.
They draw with their blood what each one of us dreams but is afraid to dare.
They are fireflies in the darkness of inertia.
They are the fire, the struggle, the street.
Lets all take the fire from their fire…
lets not forget – lets act.
Honour to anarchist
The struggle continues.