“Why would I want to live four years of my life in an armoured car with bodyguards? Four years of my life when I can’t just go where I want to go?”
—Jean Wyllys, as he announced his departure from Brazil declaring that he would vacate his congressional seat (having just won reelection) due to increasing threats upon his life
Assassinated in the dark
By culprits whom the shadows hide,
They knew well to obscure the mark
Of personal identity,
Although they acted guiltily,
Their grisly deed unpretty
Done by directive of Committee.
She died, yet legacy persists
In wake of tragic martyrdom,
Her goodness shining through the mists
Of obfuscation as they come,
Promoted by her enemies.
The foes of equity and peace,
All gangsters and goodfellas
Carving their wealth from the favelas.
President Bolsonaro’s clan
Knows Marielle represents
The love of freedom: woman, man
And child know—barring “accidents”
Arranged by men in power—they
Would like to be like her someday
Esteemed in heaven’s chorus
By martyrs who have gone before us.
The wealth that men accumulate
By crooks and criminals who scheme
Eventually must dissipate
As life proves an elusive dream,
But the integrity of one
Like Marielle is not done:
Death claims great men and sparrows,
But heaven needs no Bolsonaros.
Ignominy persists a while,
Yet even infamy expires,
But Marielle’s honest style
Remains a beacon hope admires,
And in her kind of righteousness
Love may survive: while fancy dress
Of hypocrites that flatter
Themselves do into darkness scatter.