In childhood, it is sky color, at school only a wavy canvas
Over the years, nightmare of lessons, battles, freedom, independence.
Adolescence will also suffer from belonging,
to a town where so many homelands converge
Hardly one can identify with any.
It will be in that same mixture of races and origins
Where you will form your first relationships,
And you will discover that something, “I do not know What, that’s the way”,
It is what has united us for a long time.
If you are thirsty for adventure, you will carry the backpack and travel the roads,
Regardless of the address you choose,
In the four cardinal points it has destiny,
Without implying that to leave His earth, because This, that’s enough!
Vera mountains, deserts, forests, lakes, ocean,
He will listen to tunes, words that he does not know,
Without ceasing to be their language
You will discover the immensity variety and wealth of This your land
Its people, so equal, and the time so different,
Again with “I do not know What, that As”, that unites us,
But now understanding that “I do not know what and, As well”
He is already young, he already decides, he will start his life
With the options that this country offers.
Maybe he will get ahead and settle in his land,
With the complete conviction that this is his place.
Because he feels that way, because this is his people,
This his heaven, this his place, and here are his affections.
And then he will dare to say this is my country.
But it may not be that this earth binds you,
But many times it seems to expel you
And I say it seems that the reasons that expel some
Rooting others, strange paradox of centuries
And then who should leave, there is a penalty!
One abandons in the march,
The affections, the flag, the history, the landscapes …
Because otherwise without being stripped down, you can not leave,
It is caught between two deficiencies.
And slowly remove layer by layer from the past,
To say goodbye and to reinvent itself in new soil,
That only select objects, books and memories
It already tends to think about the process,
And it will have new passport, new language, habits,
Companions and friendships
And only He knows the effort that assimilating means,
Why do one the duties as you do them,
It will always be an immigrant, a foreigner,
If you are lucky !, but, a “sudaca”.
And in the balance of a bet that maybe had no options,
You can feel safe, stable
But there is something that he no longer feels that unites him to his new people
That something, “I do not know what, that as well”;
Well, they say, you feel Patria only on the ground where you are born.