I
How my town has changed,
my town is no longer the same
from that beautiful town
Today there is an abyss.
There is no longer a woman with rebozos,
there are no more peasant men,
the pitcher does not go to the well,
it broke industrialism.
The water has already been contaminated
of the acequias and rivers,
already a water eye dried up,
They have already closed the mill.
The woman does not wear petticoats anymore,
nor the short man of Indian,
and the woman does not use speech,
nor man, his civism.
II
Already the adobe houses
They are disappearing,
today they build them as a block,
Ugly are doing them,
the silver and the gold of the poor
expensive have been getting,
there are no copper coins anymore,
of nickel today are still.
I do not hear the band anymore
of the Suárez and their children,
How sad the plaza looks
Saturdays and Sundays!,
there are other kinds of bands,
There is no kiosk nor estanquillo.
Already the country people are gone
to undertake a new adventure
to the fields of the United States,
with sadness and, perhaps bitterness,
to know that in their town they have lost
the ingenuity, the mill and sanity.
Few return from there, and I have come,
and I find it changed and there is no doubt
that is no longer that small town
that inspired longing and tenderness;
it's not that nice town anymore,
the trade brought him garbage.
III
That time they talked about ranch,
of the milpa and the rice table,
of music, dance and singing,
of father, mother and God,
of the sowing and harvesting of the field,
of the house, the place and love.
Now they talk about terrorism,
of the peso and its devaluation,
now they speak with such pessimism,
that there comes another revolution,
now instead of looking at themselves,
Now they watch television.
Only among all we can make this a better place :)