Otra Sudestada

The smell of another southeastern storm is coming,
It brings the smell of sour milk:
One senses a rising, incipient sun,
Behind the dark cloud, it's not even felt...
It drains like infected mist,
Bringing tearful explanations,
No one can believe, I swear!
If a star guides us, it's not seen,
Not seen, not seen...
I see in a trembling face
Paralysis and anger;
The wind brings other voices-
Do you hear them: it's a symphony of roots.
Like a hoarse, ancestral thunder,
From the very center of the tribe,
All together, in immense solitude.
A hug from you wouldn't hurt.
Swirls of seeds, seeking soil
To bloom.
And I offer you this anger
To take to the sea,
So that mine don't cry.
Kneeling in the city.
And I ask you for that strength,
All your cruel decision,
So that this broken dream
Awakens revolution.
You were there, standing on the curb,
With your head down,
As if asking for forgiveness.
The next day you were
On the threshold,
By the smell I knew
That everything was wrong.
I looked at the sky with hatred
And soon blasphemed,
Because what you brought was all our waste;
Our plagues, plastic,
Foul pollution.
Misery.
Abortions of millions of hearts
Destroyed.
As you rose higher
I felt like escaping;
I went to the roof,
There was no other place.
My flag fluttered,
White and sky blue,
Already without peace... or sky.
Paradise turned into pestilence.
Everything you throw into the river, returns
The wet gunpowder of another storm.
The sun is useless,
It won't evaporate.
Millions of liters of tears.
Swirls of seeds, seeking soil
To bloom.
And I offer you this anger
To take to the sea,
So that mine don't cry.
Kneeling in the city.
And I ask you for that strength,
All your cruel decision,
So that this lost dream
Awakens revolution.
And I offer you this anger
To take to the sea,
So that mine don't cry.
Defeated in the city.
Another southeastern storm...