In the contemporary diaspora, their song lives on,
Like flowers that sprout, its essence endures,
Dressed in colors, with grace and elegance,
They carry fruits and dreams with skill and perseverance.
They were born from pain, from the enslaved past,
But in each basket, they carry a beloved legacy,
Their ancestors scream at every step they take,
In his hands, living history becomes bread.
With African, mestizo and Afro-descendant pride,
His hands wove a resilient present,
At every corner, on the cobbled streets,
The soul of Africa and America is intertwined.
They are guardians of knowledge, stories and songs,
Through the centuries, they remain pillars,
Preserve culture, identity and voice,
At every fruit sale, his voice reverberates.
They are symbols of struggle, of hope on the skin,
Weaving hopes in a faithful future,
The palanqueras in Cartagena dance with history,
Uniting yesterday and today in his wise trajectory.
May the legacy they carry never fade,
May they always bloom strongly and may they cut
The chains that are yet to be broken,
The palanqueras in Cartagena, an example of power.