They reside on the other side of the city They bathe in the quiet and still fertility They own yard-keepers and docile servants Dogs, cats, hyenas and precious plants.
They breathe the camphorated air like us Swallow the transparent and abominable dust Cross over and fall in the muddy rivers like saints Like our siblings living under the tiny tents.
They reside on the other side of the old towns Over the mountains, not too far from the plains They bathe in tranquil fertility Of the country-side, not too far from the city.
They ignore that we are the same, the same formulas And that we live and endure daily the same dilemmas And one day, them and us, all of us will answer Present in the river, under the bridge of forever.