Near my roots

I can feel in the air the people's fear,
in this land you can die because
you want to speak out,
make your voice clear and loud,
find the Justice.

We die before in our heart and then with our body,
a silent shout comes from my soul's depth and become a sob upon my face,
unable to move my lips.
It's impossible to accept the murders perpetrated by the black mafia's hand.
Oppressed, frightened... what are we?
From the dry mountains the mafia victims' blood flows,
a stream without end,
a river that wets our hearts' shores,
like trees on the both sides of this river....
...we are.
Stuck in our fear, we see this river and unconsciously we let it grow,
a day it'll flood our roots.

I would not believe but it is so real.
I already feel their blood near my roots.