Some time ago a child asked me
About the meaning of the word homeland
He surprised me with the question
And with my heart in my hand
I said…..
Neighbourood flower, my little brother
Homeland is so many beautiful things!
Like the old tree mentioned in the poem
Like the love you still cherish after grandma died
Homeland is so many beautiful things!
It’s in the walls of our barrio, and it’s brown hope
Is carried in the souls of all who leave
It’s the martyrs’ who cry flag, flag, flag, flag!
Don’t memorize lessons of dictatorship or imprisonment
Because the homeland is not defined By those who enslave a country
Homeland is a feeling like an old man’s gaze
like the sun in endless springtime
Like the laughter of a newborn sister
I tell you little brother
Homeland is so many beautiful things!