Los Sobrevivientes

We are blind to see,
Tired of so much walking.
We are fed up with fleeing
In the city.

We will never have roots,
We will never have a home,
And yet you see:
We are from here.

We vibrate like the bells,
Like churches approaching from the south,
Like black dresses wanting to undress.

I have always carried you
Under my blue scarf,
Through the streets like Christ to the cross.