Chacarera Para Mi Voz

I don't know what's in my voice
that sounds so out of tune
as if the soul of the vidala
walks in it.

Struggling to reach
the tones of my guitar
that nest in the macho cry
that rises through my throat.

Rough to start
then I can't quiet it
canting my poor verse
little by little it calms down.

Oh life, I wish
when I die I could leave it
braided among the chords
of my sorrowful guitar.

I don't know what's in my voice
that sometimes sounds so sad
when it speaks of things gone
and remembers another time.

For hatred and love
its accent has mysteries
it becomes so tender and sweet
when it says I love you.

May my voice never
speak words that cause harm
may it be for the one who suffers
refreshing water that relieves.