El Andar
Atahualpa Yupanqui
The Walk
Sometimes I don't understand my journey through the world
This measuring the earth and the road, and the sea
This, which being simple, has become profound
A voice that commands my step beyond, beyond
As far as I know I am a being without sailors
People without long steps or conquered borders
Hands that imprisoned a peasant dream
Of furrows and whips and neighs and reins
Why do I admire chestnut trees and oaks and deep seas
And that strange language, and the dying violin
If a barbaric language of plains and clover fields
Gave me to drink guitars, which turned to ashes
Where does the adventure of the journey come from then
If nothing has been far away, perhaps a mountain range
And this sweet lie of changing landscapes
That are always the same, winters, springs
Sometimes I don't understand why I walk so much
If I won't find the shadow that the heart desires
Perhaps a deep chord, deep as a cry
I will hear one day, I will hear one day
