It’s rubbish

Something smells rotten. These are not tunes from the Spanish Levant, where deadly waters and fecal waters still converge in the streets, vestiges of a tragedy poorly managed before it existed. Mud, sweat, tears. From this border West that is my little homeland, I look towards the East every morning to see the sun rise, in case with its first caress it reaches all those touched by the warmth that thousands of people send every day. It smells of love in every shipment. Her tears are pure, of pain without lies. The mud that surrounds them covers what they experienced in reality, dignifies those who are at their side, only men and women united in misfortune. I see them made of mud up to the bars and I feel them as if this water were gushing at my door, as if they were the waters of the Duero when they come down in floods, fierce, and everything is chocolate color. From the Atlantic to the Mediterranean, sister waters that surround us. The borders, the divisions, the clashes are set by those at the top, one and the other; divide and conquer. Something smells rotten when we want to whitewash Sánchez or Mazón by removing the speck from the eyes of others, by justifying the unjustifiable in the name of this damn ideology. They also burn the announcement which was not from the Generalitat, the inaction of the Government, the omission of the aid of the minister with soldiers dressed in civilian clothes and compatriots converted into a united army which partially alleviated what did not did not correspond, even if so that we pay our taxes. Something smells rotten when a “first class” country responds with third world negligence, almost complacent with the immense pain of others, like someone looking over the railing of a bridge and seeing someone ‘one drowning at his feet. . feet and don’t throw him a float to leave proof that he can’t swim. If you want a float, ask for it. It is the mud that stinks in the offices, from the “guán name” to his ministers, from President Mazón to his advisors. Left-wing groups set fire to the streets this Saturday, demanding accountability from the Generalitat. It would be an exercise in democratic health if they did the same thing in Moncloa, by making visible, by giving voice to those who have lost it by repeating so much that they are alone, that a week later no one came to help them. By mistake, by distraction, by omission, each manager has his share of responsibility. It stinks, it stinks, that in our country taxes do not shine in tragedies of such magnitude which should have been the subject of immediate, rapid and effective attention. Money passing through the nose, in brothels, scams, titis and drug traffickers; steal, betray all voters of good will. For all. It’s the shit, the stench, the plague that devastates us. Something smells rotten and it’s not the mud being washed off the streets of Levante.