La Anoradora

There I am, kind of lost
far from my Salavina
like a weed that dies
if it doesn't grow in the salt flats.

There are those who could become
the elf and the salamanca
be the soul of the verses
country songs and vidalas.

Walking through the carnivals
and the jumialeras paths
when the siestas fade away
partying in the trenches.

God willing when I die
may an old violinist
come and play me a chacarera
from my Salavinero land.

Oh my, how much sorrow
for not seeing my countrymen
the sonckoy stayed with them
and there he'll be waiting for me.

Remembering my land
to return, what wouldn't I give
if what I have just a little
are my longings.

There's nothing like going to Salavina
to dance the chacarera
the old quichuistas say
the trunca is not for everyone.
God willing when I die...