Auschwitz was not the garden of my childhood. I grew up
herbs and beasts in my house
poverty lit his lamp at night.
The trees were loaded of nests and stars,
by the roads passed scaring a very white Mare.
Auschwitz was not the garden of my childhood. Only I can
remember the sacrifice of lizards,
the dark fire's home on nights wind,
girls bathing their laughter in the river,
My father sweat shirt, and fear
before the brutal howl of the waters.
Auschwitz was not the garden of my childhood, I ate candy
and tears, in my plane of wood I conquering
clouds of herbs and not human skin.
I am a privileged this time, I grew up under the light
violent of my land, No one forced me to walk
on all fours, and when they ask me my name
Lightning part the shadow of a guasima.