Diez Décimas de Saludo Al Pueblo Argentino

In my homeland there is a town
Called 'forget-me-not'
Whoever knows it should cherish
Its memory like a gem
Because there are forgetfulness that burn
And there are memories that magnify
Things that don't seem like it

Like the floating iceberg
Underneath are giants
Submerged, shaking
My town is a calm sea
Under a stormy sky

In its slow life beat
The thunderous noises
It could engender in its bosom
The rebel groups of yesteryear
And when the time comes
Tomorrow, it will also be able
To pin a thousand stars in the dawn

There is nothing more unhurried
Than a town making history
It is not seduced by glory
Nor does it imagine the future
Marching with sure steps
Calculating each step
And what seems like delay
Often turns quickly
Into things that for the fool
Are the cause of his failure

My town is not Argentine
Nor Paraguayan, nor Southern
It is called Eastern town
By reason of its destiny
But it travels the path
Of its beloved brothers
That of many humiliated
That of brown America
The blood of whose veins
Also beats in its side

My town was not absent
Nor much less turned away
From the tragic and bitter
History of the continent
We were a front balcony
Of a ruined tenancy
-Latin America's
Frustrated in bad loves-
Cultivating some flowers
Between Brazil and Argentina

But the flowers did not last long
On the balcony
The rosarian and his imprudent ambition
Cut them down
And it was the same hands
That ruined the orchard
That finished it
Those that today show, greedy
Instead of the bouquet of roses
Some paper flowers
There is no lack of the fool
Nostalgic of the garden
But among all, the villain
Is the one who brought the thief
He has no forgiveness
If they protect their profits
Decency and ignorance
Of the people, are his loves
He finds no better reasons
To buy another estate

He is not Eastern
Nor gringo, nor Brazilian
His passion is money
Because he is multinational
Universal liar
Since Hernandarias came
He thinks about his bank accounts
Praising the poets
Who make with clumsy recipes
Outlandish songs

So, there will be no path
That we do not walk together
We deal with the same subject
Easterners and Argentines
Ecuadorians, Fuegians
Venezuelans, Cuzqueños
Whites, blacks, and brunettes
Forged in work
We were born from the same branch
Of the tree of our dreams

And now receive, gentlemen
A fraternal greeting
Says my Eastern town
Better times will come
Cipher of our loves
Patriotic poncho in the horror
Of my town and its sorrows
I cannot converse with you
I just wanted to deliver
Your heart with my song