Song to my mother

I've left my mother
alone
in Xàtiva in Blanc street.

My mother who always
hopes
I'll come back like before.

I've left brothers and friends
who love me
and hope, like my mother,
that I'll come back like before.

I've come here
because I think I can tell you,
in my mistreated tongue,
words and facts
which still make us brothers.

Words and facts
which still make us feel
men among men.

Words and facts
which still make us brothers
in the fight against fear,
in the fight against blood,
in the fight against pain,
in the fight against hunger.

In the constant necessary fight
against what separates us
and makes all of us
feel strange.

I've left my mother
and my brothers.

I've left friends and home
and all who wait
for me to go back like before.

And I think I've done right.
And I think I've done right.

I know, I know, I know, I know
that I'll go back to Blanc street.

But now here,
but now here
I think is also my home,
and I think I can call you,
with an open heart,
all of you: brothers.

Brothers.