Luces Errantes

A boy flies a kite
Above a cornered city.
On the wall, his figure plays
Painting a hundred thousand white doves.
He holds the string with that strength
Of someone who has lost almost everything.
He doesn't let his kite escape.
From above, he will see
His home, the olive grove,
His yesterday and his hopefully.

A man watches the kite
Raising his gaze to the sky.
The future is just a promise
And home is just a memory.
Far from his home, a man waits
For hands to save him from the silence.
Paper flowers carried by the wind
And under the rubble
Trembles that star
That marks his return.

Wandering lights
In a foreign land,
Shadows of the past.
Uncomfortable and fragile memory,
Our legacy.
Look at me: I exist,
Dream and breathe,
Although somewhat tired.
I will carry to your home
Olive branches in my hands.
Postponed future,
Hard path of the refugee.
Wandering lights
In a foreign land,
Shadows of the past.

Paper birds fly over
The beach that was blood and thorn.
The breeze pushes a thousand kites
As if blowing on a wound.
He holds the string with that strength
Of someone who has lost almost everything.
He doesn't let his kite escape.
From above, he will see
His home, the olive grove,
His yesterday and his hopefully.

They know nothing of forgetting and borders
The wind that tangles your hair
And among clouds, rocks the kites
Painting the sky with colors.
Like a bird that always returns
To the place where dreams are born,
My sweet kite flies high.
And tomorrow will open
The heart, the path
That leads to your home.

Wandering lights
In a foreign land,
Shadows of the past.
Uncomfortable and fragile memory,
Our legacy.
Look at me: I exist,
Dream and breathe,
Although somewhat tired.
I will carry to your home
Olive branches in my hands.
Postponed future,
Hard path of the refugee.
Uncomfortable and fragile memory,
Path by your side.
I will carry to your home
Olive branches in my hands.
Postponed future,
Hard path of the refugee.
Wandering lights
In a foreign land,
Shadows of the past.