Where?

Hace poco me registré en una web (otra más, ya van tres) para aprender idiomas.

Empecé hoy aprendiendo que yareaj significa luna (nada que ver con qamar, en árabe, y mira que a veces se parecen ambas lenguas) y terminé descubriendo a Joan Baez, y todo de la mano de la misma persona! Debía de ser una oferta 2x1 o algo así.

Ahora ya en serio, parece que esta mujer fue todo un mito de la canción protesta en su tiempo, allá por los '60/ '70. Incluso viajó a Vietnam y aguantó más de un bombardeo. A la vuelta, compuso el disco "Where are you now, my son" contando todo lo que vivió estando allí.

Es precisamente la letra de esta canción lo que me ha hecho pararme a pensar.

En una de las páginas sobre la cantante, encontré este comentario:

"Bombs don't just fall and knock out a building. People live in those areas. Precision bomb is a term that does nothing to describe the effects the bombing has on the people. I grew up hearing about the bombing at Christmas in 1972. To this day, my father can't listen to Baez's song because it brings up too many painful memories but my mother always insisted that all of us [children] heard it and realized that war isn't just some sort of game like chess, it takes people lives and people are dying now, right now. Do we even know why? Do we even press for an explanation? Or are we just going about our lives and dismissing the casualties from our heads? Even while giving lip service to the spirit of Christmas?"

¿No nos recuerda a todos a algo? o a demasiado...

It's walking to the battleground that always makes me cry
I've met so few folks in my time who weren't afraid to die
But dawn bleeds with the people here and morning skies are red
As young girls load up bicycles with flowers for the dead

An aging woman picks along the craters and the rubble
A piece of cloth, a bit of shoe, a whole lifetime of trouble
A sobbing chant comes from her throat and splits the morning air
The single son she had last night is buried under her

...

From the distant cabins in the sky where no man hears the sound
Of death on earth from his own bombs, six pilots were shot down
Next day six hulking bandaged men were dazzled by a room
Of newsmen. Sally keep the faith, let's hope this war ends soon

...

They say that the war is done
Where are you now, my son?

...

Where are you now, my son? lyrics