Who are you?
That’s what everyone asks me.
Who am I? I ask myself.
I’m “hispano, latino, mejicano”?

That’s who I am, all of you who ask!
Although from the outside I may not look like others,
I have the same things inside my chest.

Neighbor,
I’m your neighbor.
Dad and Mom, I’m your son.
Dad,
Although you live with us,
You don’t really even know me.
Dad,
if only you knew me.
Brothers, Sisters,
we are “hermanos” of blood, “hermanos” of soul.

People,
you treat me as though I am a criminal.
“What are you doing here?” you ask.
I answer respectfully and honestly,
I’m here to work.
I’m not a criminal.
I’m just another Mexican who came to work hard.
I’m not here to make chaos;
I’m just here to pick your fruits.
Because of me and others like me
you don’t have to get dirty in the fields.|
All you have to do is buy fresh produce at a store.
I hope that someday you realize
I’m not dangerous to anyone.

I hope, oh, how I hope
you don’t ever have to do what I do
just to eat everyday.
I hope not only for myself,
but
for every immigrant who works hard.

I hope, I hope
I hope, I hope….