Los pies de los niños de mi barrio
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Así van a la cama: llenos de mugre y cansancio. El colchón sin sábanas tiene las marcas de los pies descalzos. Mientras duermen, se entrelazan con otros pies iguales a ellos, de todos los tamaños. Parecen tubérculos: papás, yucas, ñames llenos de barro. Cada pie tiene cinco dedos, algunas uñas menos, pero todos están llenitos de callos.
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Solo cuando miran los pies de otros niños, limpios, pulcros, con calzados, se dan cuenta que están desnudos, y comienzan a cubrirse con papeles, con el otro pie, con algunos sacos. Los pies sienten vergüenza de caminar en ese estado, pero esa vergüenza les dura poco, cuando comienzan a jugar sobre las carreteras del barrio. Mientras los pies con zapatos se cansan rapidito y duelen porque están apretados, corren lento, no se ensucian, y se resbalan como si la tierra estuviera cubierta de muchas conchitas de mango.
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En cambio, los pies de los niños de mi barrio corren sonriendo, saltan como si fueran ancas de un sapo; no tienen límites conocidos, hasta se trepan en los postes si es necesario. Sueñan, sueñan mucho, con ir detrás de un balón en un gran estadio, o correr en las olimpiadas y ganar muchas medallas de oro como si fueran granos. No saben de bacterias, tampoco de parásitos, solo saben de saltar, de caminar, de jugar, mientras llevan a Dios al lado.
La imagen principal es de libre uso y el texto fue traducido con Deepl Translate
HASTA UNA PRÓXIMA OPORTUNIDAD, AMIGOS
![Click here to read in englis]
The feet of the children in my neighbourhood
There they go, running on the hot asphalt: dirty, torn, wild. They play with milk cartons and dry tree branches; also with sharp, yellow stones that look like nails. They know nothing of flip-flops or shoes; they have nothing to protect them, only God on their side. They have developed thick patches of skin that serve as a shield and a coat: glass cuts, thorns prick, but they do nothing.
This is how they go to bed: covered in dirt and exhaustion. The mattress without sheets has the marks of bare feet. While they sleep, they intertwine with other feet just like theirs, of all sizes. They look like tubers: potatoes, yuccas, yams covered in mud. Each foot has five toes, some with fewer nails, but all are covered in calluses.
Only when they look at the feet of other children, clean, neat, with shoes, do they realise that they are naked, and they begin to cover themselves with paper, with their other foot, with some sacks. Their feet feel ashamed to walk in that state, but that shame does not last long when they start playing on the neighbourhood roads. While feet with shoes get tired quickly and hurt because they are tight, they run slowly, they don't get dirty, they slip as if the ground were covered with many mango shells.
On the other hand, the feet of the children in my neighbourhood run smiling, they jump as if they were frog legs; they have no known limits, they even climb poles if necessary. They dream, they dream a lot, of chasing a ball in a big stadium, or running in the Olympics and winning lots of gold medals as if they were grains. They know nothing about bacteria, nor about parasites, they only know about jumping, walking, playing, while carrying God by their side.