The history of men that live under the world, inside the most popular mine of South America: El Cerro Rico, Potosì, Bolivia. October 2016.

Darkness is less frightening if it's inside you.

You breathe's in your lungs.
It's in the reflection of our eyes now blind
Even the light creates a shadow
We are guided by a torch in a cold hell, made only of rocks which every day absorb our souls, our sweat.
Day follows night, and night follows day.
We don't follow anything
Our eyes cannot see the stars, not even the sun
Empty hours pass by.
Their echoes resound drop by drop in the galleries, between our coughs
We observe each other filthy with dust.
Faces carved like rocks
We look at each other and wonder ….out there would we recognise each other, would we go out for dinner together, would we greet when we met on the street, would we shake hands in Church on Sunday.
Already out there: sooner or later we will meet again, out of here!
Together, united
The years go by until the last farewell to the poor soul who spat on the ground beside you every day.
The dust will take us all, one day
The uncle knows, he looks at us mockingly in the midst of bottles of booze and coca leaves.
A toast to life and a toast to us.
The corners of the mouth fold into a sad smile
We are shadows
Ghosts with beating hearts



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