Como Aman Los Pobres

The rich and the poor don’t love the same way
The poor love with their hands
The poor love in the flesh and with greed, in the worst situations
In dire conditions and with everything against them
The poor love without pretty decorations
They know about Mondays and boring Sundays and unexpected expenses
About bills and the anxieties that hit them, month after month, point-blank

The love of the poor doesn’t go out the window
Even if money comes in through the door
That never comes in
Even if there are no windows
The poor have learned
To love in the dark for that very reason
They’ve learned to love underfed, poorly dressed, unloved
Because hunger sharpens the mind
And in their gardens, flowers still grow
Even if there are no gardens
The poor have learned to make the most of their visits, between work shifts
Even if there’s no work

And they know how to give themselves pleasures that are priceless
And they’ve learned to enjoy the circumstances and instant soup
The old mattress and the January bills
And it seems their love stands strong despite
Despite the thousands of plagues, the shattered dreams and walking failures
Of cyclical crises and famines and wars
Braver than Hercules, more Odysseus than Odysseus
And it seems their love extends and multiplies
At the rate that the poor multiply
At the rate that misfortunes multiply
And the natural disasters that always hit the homes of the poor
And that love is as high as Uranus
As high as Uranus and Gaia together

And it’s the only weapon the poor have to defend themselves
That’s why they’ve learned to grow flowers and sing their sorrows well
And they’ve invented the best works and the best instruments
That’s why they understand art and know how to find it wherever it is
Even if it’s not there, it’s always there
And they’ve learned to take advantage of charisma and slang
And to write immortal poems about complicated loves
And they know about tickles, and they know about boleros
And they know about nudity and giving it all, which is nothing more than what’s at hand
Their hands and their tongues, the way to gaze at the horizon
And the songs against the boss
I’ve always loved this way
I love you like the poor love, and I fear
That for a long, long time
This will remain the same