Bagualas y Caminos

You never know where the roads end
And where the bagualas begin
Because those paths of the mountain song
That the man seeks, or finds
And follows them, deep into the night and dream above
The march of the heroic mule, beast of the Andes
Has a rhythm that walks as if searching for a song
So the man matures his silences to be able to give birth to his verse
And he sets off uphill looking for I don't know what star
To make it understand the old anguish of the people
And the desperate longing of man

During the day the verse does not come to life
The daytime song belongs to the river, the grassland, the bird, the clean air
At night it's different. The shadow covers the hills
Only the infinite ribbon of the road remains, whitening over the rocky ground
When the night has stolen the outside landscape
The man dares to open the window to his inner landscape
And it is then, only then, when it escapes
Like a frightened dove, the verse of the mountain herder

I like to see it in the summer
When the grass ripens
I like to see it in the summer
When the grass ripens

When two love each other well
They greet each other from a mile away
When two love each other well
They greet each other from a mile away

And the baguala appears at night
And becomes the owner of the mountain
The song of the baguala dominates the voice of the rivers
The shivering of the grassland
But the tender or fierce verse, revealed
Full of longing, hurts, wounds
With that dagger of anguishing truths and clean
And high silences that the man gathers on the earth
That's why they are always united
In that special minute of
The night and the mountain
United the roads and the bagualas
United, with substance, inside that strange
And tenacious drum that is the heart of the Indian
That's why you never know, you will never know
Where the roads end
And where the bagualas begin

I like to see it in the summer
When the grass ripens