English-Spoken Salsa • Songs of the Diaspora
1 — No Flag in My Pocket
I walk these streets like I belong here,
But nothing ever says my name.
Different sky, same damn questions,
How far can you outrun your pain?
I learned their words, I learned their ways,
I iron my shirt, I work my days.
Smile on cue, I play the part,
But there’s a distance in my heart.
They say I made it, I should be proud,
But I feel invisible in every crowd.
Too foreign here, too gone back home,
Somehow I built a life alone.
I check my accent when I speak,
I hide the things that made me me.
Somewhere between who I became,
And who I was… I lost my name.
I got no flag in my pocket,
No land beneath my feet.
I’m standing in the middle,
Where both worlds never meet.
I left to find a future,
But something stayed behind.
Now I’m just a man divided,
In body and in mind.
Cold air hitting like a truth,
This city don’t care about you.
Neon lights don’t feel like sun,
And nights are longer when you’re numb.
I miss the noise, I miss the heat,
The way my people talk in the street.
Here every silence feels too loud,
Even success don’t draw a crowd.
Where do I belong now?
Who do I become now?
(¿Dónde está mi casa?)
If I go back, am I still me?
If I stay here… who will I be?
Split between two worlds I know,
One I left, one won’t let me grow.
I got no flag in my pocket,
No place I fully claim.
Two versions of my story,
But neither feels the same.
I chased a better future,
And maybe I was right—
But I lost a piece of who I am,
Somewhere between the flights.
I’m still looking…
For a place that feels like mine.
2 — Suitcase Full of Sun
I packed light…
At least that’s what I thought.
I brought the heat in a folded shirt,
A little sand in the seams that hurt.
A recipe I don’t measure right,
And songs I only sing at night.
I brought the way my mother prays,
The words she says at the end of days.
A rhythm stuck inside my chest,
That don’t align with all the rest.
I tried to keep it all the same,
But distance slowly changed the frame.
The things I swore I wouldn’t lose,
Are slipping through like worn-out shoes.
I got a suitcase full of sun,
But it’s fading over time.
Every memory I run from
Leaves a shadow in my mind.
I tried to hold the feeling,
But it don’t hit the same—
Now I’m chasing something warmer,
But I can’t recall the flame.
The food don’t taste the way it should,
I follow steps, I think I’m good.
But something’s missing in the air,
A silent gap that’s always there.
I used to speak without a pause,
Now I translate before I talk.
I catch myself, I hesitate,
Like part of me don’t operate.
Did I leave it, or did it leave me?
Is this who I’m supposed to be?
(¡Oye!)
If I forget, what does that mean?
Am I still from where I’ve been?
Bit by bit it fades away,
Piece by piece, day by day.
I got a suitcase full of sun,
But it’s colder every year.
Every step I take forward
Makes the past less clear.
I tried to keep it with me,
But it won’t stay the same—
Now I’m holding onto echoes,
Of a life I can’t reclaim.
I packed light…
But I carried everything.
3 — Bendición on the Phone
Yeah…
I call when I can…
I wait ’til the night when it’s quiet here,
So you don’t hear what I hide in fear.
I put on a voice like I’m doing fine,
Like everything’s working out this time.
You ask if I’m eating, if I sleep okay,
If I found my place, if I’m on my way.
I say what you need just to ease your mind,
But leave all the truth somewhere behind.
There’s things I can’t say through a line,
So I turn pain into “I’m fine.”
But every pause, you read it clear…
You always know when I’m not here.
Bendición… I hear you say my name,
Like nothing’s ever gonna change.
Through every mile, through every call,
You’re still the one that knows it all.
I say “I’m good,” but you don’t believe,
There’s things a mother always sees.
Bendición… don’t worry ’bout me—
I’m just learning who I have to be.
You tell me who passed, who had a child,
Who’s still around, who moved a while.
You paint me a picture I can’t step in,
A life that keeps moving without me in.
I laugh at the right parts, play my role,
But something cracks in my control.
‘Cause every story you let me hear,
Reminds me I’m no longer there.
Can you hear it in my voice?
All the weight behind the noise?
(¡Oye!)
If I tell you how it feels—
Would it break you? Would it heal?
Say less, feel more…
That’s what I call for…
Bendición… your voice still feels like home,
Even when I’m out here on my own.
Through every doubt, through every fall,
You’re still the one I always call.
I say “I’m good,” just like before,
But you hear everything I ignore.
Bendición… I carry you in me—
Even when I’m too far to see.
“Dios te bendiga…”
Yeah…
I’ll call you soon.
4 — Dollar Dream, Peso Soul
Yeah…
They said this is what success looks like…
I count my wins in numbers now,
Direct deposit, head down.
Every hour got a price,
Every move got sacrifice.
I used to measure days in sun,
Now it’s deadlines one by one.
Used to live, now I maintain,
Trading freedom just for gain.
They told me “this is how you rise,”
But nobody said what slowly dies.
You build a life they recognize,
But lose the one you had inside.
Dollar dreams, peso soul—
Tell me which one takes control.
I got more than I had before,
But I don’t feel rich no more.
All this work, all this grind,
Still can’t buy some peace of mind.
Dollar dreams, peso soul—
Somewhere I lost being whole.
I speak in meetings, shake their hands,
Play the role they understand.
But deep inside, I feel the gap,
Like I’m wearing someone else’s mask.
Every step is forward, sure,
But I don’t know what it’s for.
Climbing up, but looking down,
Wonder where I dropped my ground.
What’s the cost of who I’ve become?
Who did I trade just to be someone?
(¡Oye!)
If I win but lose my name,
Is that victory… or just a game?
More money, less me…
More gain, less free…
Dollar dreams, peso soul—
I’ve been trying to play both roles.
Built a life they all applaud,
But it don’t feel like it’s mine, oh God.
All this work, all this climb,
Still feel broke inside my mind.
Dollar dreams, peso soul—
Tell me how to make me whole.
Yeah…
I got everything I wanted…
Why don’t it feel like it?
5 — Aisle 7 (Goya Section)
Fluorescent lights…
Cold air…
Aisle 7.
I found my country in a corner shelf,
Between canned beans and something else.
A little flag on a plastic tag,
Hanging off a price they marked too fast.
Bright yellow labels, familiar names,
But nothing here feels quite the same.
The colors pop, but something’s off—
Like memories wrapped in a cheaper gloss.
I stand there longer than I should,
Reading labels like they understood.
Trying to feel what I felt before…
But it don’t land like it did back home.
In aisle 7, I see my past,
Stacked in rows that never last.
All the things I thought I knew,
Now shrink-wrapped into something new.
I reach to grab what I used to be—
But it don’t reach the same in me.
It’s all right here, but something’s wrong…
Like I don’t fully belong.
A woman passes, speaks real fast,
A different rhythm than my past.
Not quite here, not quite there—
Even in this space, I’m out of place.
I grab a box I used to love,
Flip it over, read it once.
Different taste, or maybe me—
I don’t trust my memory.
Is it real or just a copy?
Did it change or did I?
(¡Oye!)
If I take it home tonight—
Will it taste like my life?
Same name…
New feel…
Something lost I can’t reveal…
In aisle 7, I see it clear,
Everything I miss is here—
But it don’t hit the way it did,
Like I outgrew the life I lived.
I came to find a piece of me,
In things that used to set me free—
But all I found in every sign…
Was something left behind.
“Next customer…”
Yeah…
That’s me.
6 — 3 Missed Calls (3:12 AM)
Screen lights up the side of my bed,
3:12 in glowing red.
Three missed calls, same name again,
I already know where this could end.
Room stays still but something shifts,
That quiet weight you can’t dismiss.
I sit up slow, don’t press it yet—
Like waiting might change what I expect.
Time don’t move the same back home,
While I’m here sleeping all alone.
Whatever happened, it’s already done…
And I wasn’t there for anyone.
Three missed calls in the dead of night,
Now I’m scared to hit “call back.”
Every second stretching wide,
Like there’s no way to take it back.
Distance ain’t just miles away—
It’s moments that you never get.
Three missed calls at 3:12…
And I ain’t ready for it yet.
I scroll the thread, last thing you said,
“Call me when you wake,” I read.
No sign of what was going wrong,
No warning in a simple tone.
My chest feels tight, my hands don’t move,
Like touching it will make it true.
I stare at names I should’ve called,
Now silence echoes through it all.
Do I call now?
Do I wait now?
If I hear it, it’s real…
If I don’t… can I delay how I feel?
Ring it—
Don’t—
Ring it—
Don’t—
Three missed calls in the dead of night,
Now there’s no more time to choose.
Whatever waited on the line—
I already had to lose.
No rewind, no second chance,
No way to be where I should’ve been.
Three missed calls at 3:12…
And everything changed within.
…click…
7 — Someone’s Cooking Sofrito Upstairs
…wait…
What is that?
Through the vent and under the door,
Something I can’t ignore.
Garlic, peppers, oil in heat—
Stops me halfway in my feet.
I close my eyes without a plan,
And suddenly I’m not where I am.
Tile floor, a crowded space,
Voices I don’t have to chase.
It’s not mine, but it feels so close,
Like a ghost I almost know.
I stand still just to let it stay—
Before it slowly fades away.
Someone’s cooking sofrito upstairs,
And it pulled me out of here.
For a second I was somewhere else,
Where everything felt clear.
Didn’t need to think or try,
Didn’t have to ask me why—
Someone’s cooking sofrito upstairs…
And I almost felt alright.
Pots and pans I can’t quite hear,
But I know exactly what is near.
Not a sound, but I can tell—
By the way it hits the air.
I don’t move, don’t make a sound,
Like if I breathe, it won’t stick around.
Just let it sit, just let it pass,
Like holding onto something that won’t last.
Can you smell it?
Do you feel it?
(¡Oye!)
If I follow where it leads—
Would it bring it back to me?
Hold it— Don’t move—
Let it stay— Just a few…
Someone’s cooking sofrito upstairs,
And it opened something deep.
All the things I didn’t know
I was still trying to keep.
Just a moment, just a trace,
Of a time I can’t replace—
Someone’s cooking sofrito upstairs…
Then it slowly fades away.
…gone…
Yeah…
It’s gone.
8 — Window Seat… Row 18
“Cabin crew, prepare for landing…”
Seatbelt tight, window scratched,
Forehead resting on the glass.
Clouds break open, colors show—
Greens and blues I used to know.
Someone leans across the aisle,
Points it out like it’s their first time.
I don’t move, I don’t react,
Just trace the coastline going back.
Window seat, row 18,
Island underneath the wing.
Every turn, every line—
I should feel it come alive.
Close enough to recognize,
Far enough it don’t feel mine…
Window seat, row 18—
Something’s missing in between.
Tires scream against the ground,
Everybody shifts around.
Phones go up, messages fly,
“I just landed,” “just arrived.”
I stay still a little more,
Let them rush into the door.
I don’t need to be first out—
I’m still figuring this out.
Same air, Same light…
Why don’t it land inside?
Window seat, row 18,
Everything I thought I’d need.
Right below, within my reach—
Still feels out of sync with me.
All this time I held it close,
Like a place I’d always know…
Window seat, row 18—
Now I’m not so sure of me.
Window seat… row 18…
Window seat… row 18…
Tell me why it don’t feel the same—
Row 18… row 18…
I see it all but I feel no change—
Window seat… row 18…
Same island calling out my name—
Row 18… row 18…
If I’m back, why I feel away?
…Window seat… row 18
Window seat… row 18…
Touch the ground… still out of place—
Row 18… row 18
9 — Leave the Light On
5:02…
House still breathing slow.
Suitcase by the door all night,
Handle turned toward the street.
I kept walking past it, hoping
I’d forget I had to leave.
Kitchen light still glowing low,
I never shut it off.
Didn’t want this place to feel
Like something I just lost.
Floors remember how I move,
Walls don’t ask me anything.
Every corner holds a version
Of the life I couldn’t bring.
There’s a silence in the rooms
That only shows up when I go.
Not empty… just aware
Of something it used to hold.
Leave the light on…
Not to guide me back—
Just so it don’t feel
Like I erased this place.
Leave the light on…
Even if I’m gone—
I need to know it exists
When everything else moves on.
Door stays open just a bit,
Longer than it should.
Like the house is giving me
One last chance to stay if I could.
But I don’t.
I step out.
Morning air cuts clean.
Same road pulling me away—
Same space in between.
Leave the light on…
Even if I don’t return.
Even if the version of me that lived here
Don’t exist no more.
Leave the light on…
Not for who I was—
For whatever’s left of me
If I ever cross this door.
Leave it on…
Leave it on…
Not for now… for later on—
Leave it on…
For the part I carry on—
Leave it on…
If I change and lose the way—
Leave it on…
Let it still be here to stay—
Leave it on…
Leave it on…
Just don’t let it disappear.
Leave it on…
Leave it on…
