El ferroviario

I remember when I was a child
my father walking,
returning late at night
from work, tired.

Memories, beautiful memories,
I have of my old man.

I remember him on the platform,
shiny leather jacket,
earth's engineer,
sky's fireman.

When he had the night shift
he would return at dawn,
his hair full of stars
would wake up my window.

His militant presence
pierced him with many thorns,
relegated by the mountains
he went to heal his wounds.

The smoke from those trains,
the time of the station,
bring him back to memory
and memory turns into a song.

I would like to thank him
for what he taught me:
that justice is the people,
that woman is love.