Como Una Historia

(To Víctor Jara)

Years gone by present in me,
it was there in Santiago that I met you.
It would be in the park, I believe so,
eighteenth of September I see you coming.

With confident steps you bring the color
and the Chilean countryside fills your voice.
As a student, you want to do your best,
your humble jacket knows of pain

from someone who arrives one day from green mountains
and inhabits the room of a strange house,
I don't remember the name of the neighborhood.
With your candid laughter, I feel better.

It will be in the moments of seeking everything
that theater feeds your thirst to create.
The song of the people, life, love,
by the riverbank, my voice breaks.

Humble stage where Cuncumén
knows he has finally found his carnation,
singing tunes that know how to love,
dancing the cueca, today I see you again.

La Viola said that Víctor made
the guitar speak, poetry sprout,
singing about humanity with the big guitar,
he was a young sage of the greater verse.

Time passes, fills us with love,
the beautiful Joanita gave you her heart.
It will be with your daughters, it will be with Amanda
that your life changes, that you find peace.

One day you decide, it will be here at the Peña,
that I put my song next to my flag.
Years of struggle, years of doing,
the homeland that waits to be reborn.

I don't know how you can change places
with such patience, so much work,
listening to others, singing and teaching,
having a tea with the others.

Who saw the reason in your guitar
bit into the roots of New Song.
When the people said it was a fighting song,
they sang to you then, they will sing to you always.

September comes again, the pain is felt,
it's dawn, death awaits you.
There will be no more comfort for this pain.
There will never be forgetting for what happened.