Radical love is tasking unchoreographed rhythms,

reacting generously for the sake of sharing oxygen with living things,

lifting the spirit to uncharted altitudes where bees store the future,

stimulating the sense of touch in the presence of water,

circling the emerging spiral from our backs,

crafting horizontal narratives for everyone to dive into,

advocating for humanity even when hope is almost gone,

sketching one grain of sand in the archives of our memory,

naming the pains conditioning our hair,

hearing the equations of justice melt in lava.

Radical love requires a cure outside traditional medicine:

Raising compassion instead of hands as commanded by cops.

Shouting testimonies of pain without getting recorded.

Reserving the right to live outside of hate.

Transforming a burden into an untamed light.

Downholding accountability.

Firing in all directing invented constellations of forgotten bodies.

Exposing trajectories of ancestral teachings.

Elevating women to where Ester shines.

Mapping as we walk on new terrains in each gathering.

Shedding tears to fertilise the ground where our seeds will grow.

Starving the fake apologies as they migrate from top to bottom.

Rendering respect to palm trees anchored in shoulder-to-shoulder.

Inhabiting in plurality.

Echoing the song of the leaves in the pulse of loving in action.

Decarcerating ghosts in chains.

Breathing in community with the spirit of resistance.

Soaring within the poetry of ancestral metaphors.

Celebrating the empowerment behind the crawling of others.

Belonging to the humanity found in one single tear.

Introducing the gathering of uplifted voices to eternity.

Spilling fierce touches of compassion in the face of hate.

For all of the above and the untold stories I carry in my heart, I remain in roots.

Clelia O Rodríguez