Ya Quisiera Yo

I wish I could be a freethinker,
not hear the growling of so many bellies, nor their crying, nor their pain,
establish myself as correct, philosopher, neutral, independent,
deal well with everyone.

I would like to align myself with the non-violent,
give flowers, barefoot, pulled from some pot,
without having to turn the other cheek for anyone,
not be threatened by any undesirable.

The thing is that everyday sadness affects me,
that of supermarkets, that of the subway and the sidewalks,
also those that are far away,
those of the dry deserts, those of the green jungles.

The thing is that they seem like good people to me,
some fighters of the sunset,
who break their chests to be heard,
who will die on some corner, shot.

I wish I were smarter, to pass by,
knew myself free of guilt and clean of sin,
and be a charitable soul, Maria Goretti or saint,
suffer just a little, only what God commands.

Not understand politics, nor its current events,
convince myself that it is a spider's web, a scorpion's nest,
and mutilate my soul and my essence of social animal,
know myself superior to so much frivolity.

The thing is that everyday sadness affects me too much,
the sadness of the suburbs, the urban drama,
knowing that we will be cannibals soon
and that there won't be enough meat for everyone.

The thing is that it affects me, perhaps more than normal,
having so much fear when crossing my gate,
seeing my city burn or the asphalt bleed.
Maybe I should watch the news less.

I wish I were smarter, to adopt the right pose,
get rid of labels, even the one of man,
and understand that only I understand myself
and that no one understands me,
be a good formal and respectable citizen.

Omit from my songs
words like: comrade, worker,
justice, guerrilla, peace, hunger or fear,
and talk about love, beautiful things, my memories,
tell a funny anecdote
from when I was a teenager.

The thing is that everyday sadness affects me,
that of supermarkets, that of the subway and the sidewalks,
also those that are far away,
those of the dry deserts, those of the green jungles.

The thing is that they seem like good people to me,
some fighters of the sunset,
who break their chests to be heard,
who will die on some corner, shot.