I am Guatemala
I am its mountains and its shore
I am its black sand beaches. I am its artists and its poor
I am the mist from its volcanoes
I am its limestone richly carved
I am the Mayan, and the Latin. I am the hungry and the starved
I am its folklore and its future
I am its markets and its clothes
I am the abandoned and forgotten. I am its children no one knows
I am its colorful conventions
I am its jungles and its fare
I am its colonial traditions. I am the pilas in the square
I am Guatemala
I am its living and its dead
One is always Guatemala, no matter how far we are spread