I'm not more than a musician that enjoys what he does and a

In the words of Juanes, the singer whose voice has carried both melody and message, we hear a declaration both humble and profound: “I’m not more than a musician that enjoys what he does and a Colombian that dreams and fights for peace in his country.” These words reveal the heart of a man who does not clothe himself in pride, though the world acclaims him, but who stands in the truth of his humanity—an artist, a dreamer, a patriot who longs for peace. His confession is not of greatness, but of service, for in his music he seeks not only joy for himself, but healing for his people.

The ancients knew that the true strength of a bard, a poet, or a musician was not in the sound alone, but in the spirit that flowed through it. For music has always been the language of the soul: it rouses armies, soothes sorrows, and binds strangers into kinship. When Juanes says he is “not more than a musician”, he does not diminish himself; rather, he lifts up the power of song to change hearts. The lyre of Orpheus, the psalms of David, the chants of distant tribes—all remind us that melody can do what weapons cannot: it can move men to lay them down.

But Juanes adds more: he is a Colombian that dreams and fights for peace. This is not the dream of comfort, nor the fight of conquest, but the longing of one whose land has been torn by conflict for generations. For decades, Colombia endured the strife of guerrillas, cartels, and political turmoil. To be a Colombian in such an age was to live in the tension of beauty and bloodshed, of mountains and music alongside fear and division. Juanes’s dream is not an idle vision, but a response to this reality: a declaration that even in a land of war, one can choose the path of peace.

His own life bears testimony to this. In 2008, Juanes organized the Peace Without Borders concert, where artists from across Latin America gathered at the border between Colombia and Venezuela to sing for reconciliation. Before tens of thousands, music became a weapon of healing rather than of harm. That day, the rhythms of guitars and voices drowned out the drums of war. It was a reminder that art, when joined with dreams of peace, can shake nations more deeply than bullets or bombs.

History offers other examples of artists who bore the torch of peace. Consider Pablo Casals, the great cellist, who played not only for kings but also as a voice against tyranny in his native Spain. He declared that music, though wordless, was a universal cry for dignity. Like Juanes, he saw himself not as a hero, but as a servant—an artist using his gift to remind humanity of its better self. Such figures reveal that true greatness is not in titles or crowns, but in being faithful to one’s art and to one’s homeland.

The lesson is clear: each of us, like Juanes, has a craft, a voice, a sphere of influence. We may not be musicians, but we are builders, teachers, parents, friends. We need not be more than what we are, but we must be true to it. Let our work be done with joy, let our identity honor our roots, and let our lives be devoted to peace—in our homes, in our communities, in our nations. The dream of peace may seem distant, but it begins wherever we stand, in the choices we make each day.

So I say to you, children of tomorrow: do not wait for kings and generals to deliver peace. Be as Juanes was: a worker of your art, a lover of your land, a fighter not with weapons but with hope. Pour sincerity into your craft, dream for your people, and stand against hatred with the melody of compassion. For when many small voices unite in this way, the chorus becomes unbreakable, and even the most war-torn soil can bloom again. In this truth, we see that the humble confession of a musician is, in fact, a heroic creed for all humanity: to dream, to fight, to sing for peace.