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Black vultures plough through the sky,

celebrating on circle corpses they find,

death they sight they see it from afar,

after the killing flesh torn apart.

Silent and dark,

eating the bodies of the disappeared,

they pack their bellies,

of the countless, and nameless.

The vultures stealthily their wings wide spread

because of the burst when crossfire is heard,

patiently await, for the on fall to end,

and their bellies are clear,

for the killing is near.

Witnessing for ages uncountable massacres.

Long is the history of Colombia’s war!

Death’s dismal helpers, after sixty years of warfare,

still prepare their single flight,

for announced battles and fights.

A dark swirling gyre of black wings up in the sky.

Vigilant they remain violence does not wane.

It seems we are doomed under shadows of death.

Again, they do their dance

with the killing at their glance.

Silent and dark,

they remain way up high,

shadows grow and rise,

our hopes languish and die.