Mi Ciudad

My city is a chinampa
In a hidden lake,
It's a mockingbird searching
Where to build its nest,
A whirligig that deceives the eye when spinning.

Dancing to the tune
Of tequila and its bravery
It's a rider risking life
In a canvas of party and color.

My city is the cradle
Of a sleeping child,
In a forest of mirrors
Guarded by a castle,
Monuments of glory watching over its path.

It's a sun
With a plume and a veined sarape,
That at night dresses as a charro
And starts singing to love.

In the evenings with the rain
Its brown skin bathes
And as the braids come undone
Its sad eyes close.

My city is the cradle...