My memory has reawakened.

The world grows weak.

Everywhere you hear bad news.

 

In a concrete nest

we birth plastic,

dulled by the clamour of the city.

 

I dreamed of my neglected garden,

its scent will soon be gone.

Summer lightly wafts sweet aromas.

 

Memory leads back

To Mother Earth through dreams.

Fear had driven them out, fear brings them back now.

 

Here I have returned where my Brother Tree wraps me in his fragrance, as do my sisters, the sweet herbs,

The fertile soils and singing rivers revive my beauty.

 

My Pachamama, in her field of qantu flowers,

Harvests the potatoes that she fertilised, and cooks for me

On the warmth of her tullpa,

She grinds the chilli with sweet herbs to restore my taste.

 

Flower field of qantus, garden of the Inti sun.

Mother, invoke my being,

Return my humanity,

On this land, life is waiting for you.