Dear John.

It was more that a few who said, twenty years ago, that that 8th of December
was the end of an era.  Many feared it among the millions who offered you
ten minutes of silence and the multitude that on the 14th congregated in
Central Park in New York to express a pain that time does not placate.

It was Yoko who then advised: "the message should not end."  And little
Sean, knew how to express the greater truth: He imagined you bigger, after
death, "because now you are everywhere."

You were always among us.  Now, in addition, we offer you this bench where
you can rest and this park to receive your companeros and friends.

Your message could not disappear because love had, and still has, many
battles to fight.  Because you had the privilege to hear it in millions of
voices that became yours and continued raising it up like a hymn.

Wasn't it a yellow submarine that surfaced that afternoon in 1966 in the
port of New York and marched at the front of thousands of young people who
condemned the war? How many hundreds of thousands demanded that peace be
given a chance, and were in solidarity with the people of Vietnam, there in
Washington, in front of the monument, that unforgettable November 15th in
1969?  On that day, didn't your art reach its highest realization?  How many
times did it not multiply from Berkeley to New England and from one
continent to another, that generation that believed that love could prevail
over war?  John, I am sure that you remember the martyrs of Kent State
University who wanted to follow you, to also be working class heroes.  It is
known that it was your verses that were their only shield in front of the
bullets of Nixon.

There were more, many more, that met to celebrate the twentieth anniversary
of Imagine, in 1991, when others said that the story had already ended.
Some believe that you appeared in a window of the Dakota.  All of us, you
too, were happy.  We saw, astonished, the faces of old comrades, confounded
to be among countless young people who had not even been born when you, over
there in Liverpool, intoned ballads of love with proletarian words and we
here defied the monster.

Our boat will continue sailing.  Nothing will stop it.  It is driven by "a
wind that never dies." They will call us dreamers but our ranks will grow.
We will defend the vanquished dream and struggle to make real all dreams.
Neither storms nor pirates will hold us back.  We will sail on until we
reach the new world that we will know how to build.

We will meet again, tonight, at the concert.  We will go on together,
always.