Under the scent of the Guayabo tree

For all that we lost, for all that we suffered; I mourn.

I lost my home, my city, my country.

I lost all my geographycal referents.

The sea did not indicate West anymore;

the Andes were not there to indicate East;

North and South I could find no more.

!Go on my dear, go on!

Life is so short, so short is love;

I will be your North.

In bad weather the Northern wind will tell you

that it is time to come home to me.

!Go on, dearest, go on!

Down South, the guayabo tree is in bloom.

The guayabo tree’s scent tells you

that I die to have your presence by my side.

!Go on, my love, go on!

Together we will sing to the four corners we are one.

To the wind, to the fire, to the earth, to the sea

we will tell of our dreams of happiness.

We will defy distance and meet

in far away Mexican land.