I talk on the phone,
my mother answers me,
I feel the nostalgia in her voice
misses the children who left,
her voice begins to whiten.
She takes care of her grandson,
she looks forward to the holidays or a December.
Another year comes, I´m leaving.
In the neighborhood where I was born,
new people I saw.
Those friends that I played with
they left away to new horizons.
Others, out of adversity,
they left forever.
I visit the old houses,
I know people from another generation.
Acquaintances grow old.
Nostalgia in a corner.