Patria

Some time ago a boy asked me
About the meaning of the word homeland
His question surprised me
And with a lump in my throat

I told him
Neighborhood flower, little brother!
Homeland is so many beautiful things!
Like that old tree that a poem talks about

Like the affection you still keep after grandma's death
Homeland, so many beautiful things!
They are the walls of a neighborhood
It's their brown hope: It's what everyone carries in their soul when they leave

They are the martyrs who shout, flag, flag, flag, flag
Don't memorize lessons from dictatorships or confinements
The homeland is not defined
By those who suppress a people

The homeland is a feeling in the gaze of an old man
Sun of eternal spring, laughter of a new little sister
I answer you, little brother
Homeland is so many beautiful things!