Chimarrão

Old gourd creole
I met you in the shed
Bringing my chimarrão
With a smoky scent
Bitter drink of the race
That sweetens my heart

Bitter drink of the race
That sweetens my heart

Silver bomb embedded
By the pond of the homeland
How many Chinese or wandering Indian
From the water your thoughts
Of joy, suffering
Of disappointment or caress

Of joy, suffering
Of disappointment or caress

I see you in the can of herb
All covered in dust
In the hand of the cheerful Chinese
Or around the stove
Leaning on a burning log
Or leaning against the kettle

Leaning on a burning log
Or leaning against the kettle

I rest my elbow on my knee
I sit on the haunch
By the ground fire
I go over my memory
And I can't find in history
Who invented you, chimarrão

And I can't find in history
Who invented you, chimarrão

It was the tough-haired Indian
When he stepped on this land
Crazy to take a sip
He had a dry throat
Tasting the plant's leaf
He made you bitter mate

Tasting the plant's leaf
He made you bitter mate

You were a wild drink
And today you are tradition
And only you, my chimarrão
That the gaucho does not despise
Because you are the prayer book
That I pray by the stove

Because you are the prayer book
That I pray by the stove

Although cold or washed
Or if your tuft falls
My joy expands
To see you like this, my trophy
Who invented you went to heaven
And left you for Rio Grande

Who invented you went to heaven
And left you for Rio Grande