El Grito (poema)

The heart is a bow.
It barely fits in the chest.
And broken, it flies up
The shout of the cowboys.

Danger, march, attention.
Courage, sorrow, resentment.
The shout jumps on the rocks
Trampling the silence.

Fleeting joys.
Shadows that hurt inside.
Anxiety of a hundred paths
The shouts of the hill have.

Blue and red poncho.
Good horse and good gear.
The heart, like a bow
That no longer fits in the chest.

And in the middle of the road
A shout that fills the hill,
Saying different things
Although they seem the same.