Gente Humilde

There are certain days when I think of my people
And I feel my chest tighten
Because it seems to happen suddenly
Like a desire to live without noticing

Just like when I pass through the suburbs
I'm fine, coming by train from somewhere
And then I envy those people
Who move forward without anyone to rely on

Simple houses with chairs on the sidewalk
And on the facade, written above that it's a home
On the balcony, sad and barren flowers
Like the joy that has nowhere to lean on

And then a sadness fills my chest
Like a resentment of not having a way to fight
And I, who don't believe, pray to God for my people
They are humble people, it makes me want to cry