La Andariega
Atahualpa Yupanqui
The Wanderer
I would never forget,
always knew how to swear.
Today, that I find myself so far away,
who knows, my soul, if it will remember?
My poor hope
knew how to help me a lot.
Today, doubts hurt me:
who knows, my soul, if it will remember?
I lie down on the saddle;
sadly I start to think:
life is all absence,
who knows, my soul, if it will remember?
This wandering zamba,
born in the sandy ground,
after wandering so much with me,
knows my pain of walking and walking.
Life has never given me
a ranch to dream.
I bleed out on the trail,
who knows, my soul, if it will remember?
