If this land could talk, it would tell many stories, some sweet, others bitter; some in vibrant colours, others dark; some harsh, others gentle; some fresh, others so old that their earthy fragrance disperses through the air. If Colombia could speak, her stories would be endless. In her profound silence, we become her voice, the voice of young Colombia, born again from her ashes, becoming garments of hope.

The same sun shines over the entire beautiful land of Colombia, but the dawns are not the same, nor are the sunsets equal for everyone, because different eyes see them, different bodies live them. At dawn, the children of the sun wake up, some are farmers cultivating life in the fields; others are youth, walking great distances to school, sweaty and in a hurry; some are women already longing for their homeward return at sunset; others are victims of violence who still feel in their skin and in their hearts the absence of their loved ones, taken away by war, they fight to break the silence surrounding the hidden horrors that have destroyed families; others are in the pinnacle of power, others are crushed under the worst oppression. We are there, in the crossfire of extremes, as newborn souls, the heirs of the land, young people who feel history with our own hands and our own ideas, transforming it into a hopeful future.

A people led by youth rise up with strength against tyranny, tired of centuries of being oppressed by their self-proclaimed masters, fighting in vain for a dignified life. Now they resist war and proclaim peace, sowing a culture that empowers youth and that youth empower. They struggle and they sing and demarcate a before and an after.

Rainforests that stretched out for kilometres in living green; imposing, cloud-capped mountains that adorned the face of the earth; birds travelling in flocks, northbound, looking for rest; condor families that rested on valleys of palm trees that scraped the sky; the enormous rivers that welled up from the horizon and tumbled down the mountains; the sunsets that painted yellow, red and blue the canvas of the sky... the one and only sky that painted itself with these hues of the hidden homeland where we found ourselves.

Some paths in Colombia are dangerous, dark, difficult to navigate, but, when we walk together, planting our feet forward with hope, our steps transform and blaze a new horizon. Our voices strong in a single cry, the melodies of our instruments touching hearts, the images we paint with the colours of our flag, the art we are and the culture that clothes us, all this becomes the morning sun for the resistance born in our land and the memory that is our identity.

Colombia is not a country of marvels, but we are the generation that does not hesitate to journey and speak through our art. We provide more answers than questions. Colombia needs us to be her voice to sing the verses of hope. Beloved Colombia, we are your dear ones, and our heart burns because inside, there lives the inextinguishable fire of resistance.