Ode to the motherland

I may not belong to you entirely, yet I rise from you.

Your roots still hold me close,
even when sierras stand between us.

You cradled the birth of my parents,
my grandparents, and those before them—
the deep river of ancestry flowing in my veins.

I am a child of corn, sacred to the gods,
golden seed that has carried your people
through centuries of struggle and song.

I am born of the eagle who claimed its destiny
upon a cactus in the middle of a lake,
and of the ancient tongues
that still echo in mountains, markets, and lullabies.

You feed my body and spirit with gifts from your earth,
with tortillas that hold the warmth of the sun,
with cacao, your gift to the world,
a sweetness carved from your soil and stories.

You pulse with music and color—
tones that paint foreign rooms
until they feel like home.

Mariachi trumpets that roar with strength,
son jarocho that dances with joy,
corridos that keep alive the fire of resistance.

You teach me that death is not an ending,
but a bridge of marigolds and candles,
where memory lingers and love refuses to fade.

You are the bell of Dolores,
a cry that awakened a nation.
You are Hidalgo’s fire,
Josefa’s unshakable voice,
Morelos’ dream of equality.

You are the soil where campesinos sowed justice,
where Zapata and Villa rode for dignity.

You are the soldadera,
her hands rough with labor,
her spirit blazing with courage—
the silent backbone of a revolution.

I believe in you—
in your future,
in your strength to rise again,
in your unbreakable identity.

Your presence echoes across the world:
in every corner, every tongue, every rhythm.

Mothers give us life,
but you, Mexico,
give us identity.

You give us the pride
that swells when your flag unfurls:

Green for hope.
White for unity.
Red for the blood of heroes
who gave their lives—
and still give their lives—for the homeland.

And at the heart, your emblem:
the eagle, the cactus, the serpent—
a prophecy of destiny,
a reminder of roots that cannot be cut.

For even when my feet wander far,
your colors travel with me,
painted on murals of memory.

No distance can undo it:
Mexico lives in me,
and I live in Mexico.