And we have wept for him until our eyes are dry.
Dry as the fields of California that
He loved so well and now lie fallow.
Dry as the orchards of Yakima, where dark buds
Hang on trees and do not blossom.
Dry as el Valle de Tejas where people cross
Their Foreheads and pray for rain.
This earth he loved so well is dry and mourning
For César has fallen, our morning star has fallen.
The messenger came with the sad news of his death—
O, kill the messenger and steal back the life
Of this man who was a guide across fields of toil.
Kill the day and stop all time, stop la muerte
Who has robbed us of our morning star, that
Luminous light that greeted workers as they
Gathered around the dawn campfires
Let the morning light of Quetzacótal and Christian saint
Shine again. Let the wings of the Holy Ghost unfold
And give back the spirit it took from us in sleep.
Across the land we heard las campanas doblando:
Ha muerto César, Ha muerto César.
How can the morning star die? We ask. How can
This man who moved like the light of justice die?
Hijo de la Virgen de Guadalupe, hombre de la gente,
You starved your body so we might know your spirit.
The days do carry hope, and the days do carry treason.
O, fateful day, April 23, 1993, when our morning
Star did not rise and we knew that in his sleep
César had awakened to a greater dream.
And we, left lost on this dark, dry Earth,
Cursed the day la muerte came to claim
The light within his noble body.
He was a wind of change that swept over our land.
From the San Joaquin Valley north to Sacramento
From northwest Yakima to el Valle de Tejas
From el Valle de San Luis to Midwest fields of corn
He loved the land, he loved la gente.
His name was a soft breeze to cool the campesino’s sweat
A scourge on the oppressors of the poor.
Now he lies dead, and storms still rage around us.
The dispossessed walk hopeless streets,
Campesinos gather by roadside ditches to sleep,
Shrouded by pesticides, unsure of tomorrow,
Hounded by propositions that keep their children
Uneducated in a land grown fat with greed.
Yes, the arrogant hounds of hate
Are loose upon this land again, and César
Weeps in the embrace of La Virgen de Guadalupe,
Still praying for his people.
“Rise, mi gente, rise,” he prays.
His words echo across the land, like the righteous
Thunder of summer storms, like the call of a
Warrior preparing for the struggle. I hear his
Voice in the fields and orchards, in community halls,
In schools, churches, campesino homes and
Presidential palaces. “Rise, mi gente, rise.”
That was his common chant. Rise and organize,
Build the House of Workers.
Build the House of Justice now!
Do not despair in violence and abuse.
Rise together and build a new society.
Build a new democracy, build equality,
And build a dream for all to share.
His voice stirs me now, and I rise from my grief.
I hear the words of the poet cry:
“Peace, peace! He is not dead, he doth not sleep—
He hath awakened from the dream of life.”
I hear César calling for us to gather.
I hear the call to a new Huelga,
I hear the sound of marching feet
The guitarra strums of the New Movimiento
The old and young, rich and poor, all move
To build the House of Justice of César’s dream!
The trumpet of righteousness calls us to battle!
And the future opens itself like the blossom
That is his soul, the fruit of his labor.
He calls for us to share in the fruit.
“He lives, he wakes—‘tis Death is dead, not he;
Do not weep for César, for he is not dead.
He lives in the hearts of those who loved him,
Worked and marched and ate with him, and those
His disciples know he is not dead.
For in the dawn we see the morning star!
Light comes to illuminate the struggle,
And bless the work yet to be done.
Throughout Aztlán we call the young to gather;
Rise and put aside violence and temptations.
Rise and be swept up by the truth of his deeds,
Rise not against each other, but for each other,
Rise against the oppressors who take your seat
And labor and sell it cheap.
He is the light of the new day.
He is the rain that renews parched fields.
He is the hope that builds the House of Justice.
He is with us! Here! Today!
Listen to his voice in the wind.
He is the spirit of Hope,
A movement building to sweep away oppression!
His spirit guides us in the struggle.
Let us join his spirit to ours!
Sing with me. Sing all over this land!
