I know of landmarks translating
blood and battle
into pride and solemnity

I know of the song of
drills and demolitions
meaning progress and possibility

But as always, I roam these streets
and I know
I know
that the fractures on this asphalt
were not made by the weapons of revolutionaries

I know that
the children on these corners are not playing
their bare feet do not mean childish rebelliousness
their scars do not mean innocent mischief

those old men sheltering themselves under trees
with their piercing eyes, their tired hands
what are they looking at?
broken walls, broken streets?
broken hopes, resonating under the footsteps
of hungry generations?

There are people who were born in water
and who firmly believe
their fate is to die drowning

and down here, down here
where the roots are supposed to grow
there is not a soul, not a man
who isn't trying to run

and down here, down here
where the roots are supposed to grow
these children escape to nowhere
these children don't know that
no one knows that
el Sur también existe