El Borriquillo

Today I remembered the teacher
who taught me as a little boy
the one who paved the path
riding on his little donkey.
When I was clumsy
they called me little donkey like him
that noble animal
always so close to the poor
they say it will be lost.
A little gypsy sheared
next to that fig tree
sheared his little donkey
and to the rhythm of his scissors
he sang this song.
He never burned the mountain
nor conquered the horizon
mistreating the children
as clever as man is
and as clumsy as the little donkey.

His saddle of canvas and straw
his rope bridle
his water jugs.
With each passing war
the world seems small to us and for what
cursed be the borders
and the boundaries of the earth
that knowledge will conquer.
He knew the gate
to go to the well for water
and with his simple walk
he went from the well to the house
without breaking the jugs.
How intelligent he must have been
going to the fountain for water
to play with the children
many people would like
to be like the little donkey.

The fence is his friend
the broom and the path.
Let them continue
those clever ones destroying humanity
the world will one day have
a lost bridle
that no one will be able to find.
No one has seen
nor painter has painted
a more rustic scene
than a dozing little donkey
in the corner of the threshing floor.
He never burned the mountain
nor conquered the horizon
mistreating the children
today I felt sorry for the man
who called me little donkey.

How sad if we lose
from the sweet dawn
the braying that is felt
at the first light of day.
Tenderness in his eyes
that in life there are few things to learn
he is the king of the stubble
hurrah for living as he pleases
that's why I speak to him formally.
With him came the tinsmith
the well watered the garden
with the washbasin and mortar
and jars at the doors
the potter proclaimed.
He doesn't complain or feel
his shelter is the dampness
and his childlike nature
may people not allow
the little donkey to be lost.