Mi Copla Guerrera Y Criolla

My warrior and creole copla born in the mastrantales
As the plain raised her, she has natural talents
That's why to express her sentimental verses
She doesn't need the reinforcement of fireworks

She doesn't rely on the wit of universal authors
Because she was formed at the gates of the corrals
With the tightening of the knot in the latch and the poles
The roar of the maruleto when the guarales fall

It got mixed into my copla like iron and signals
The smell of piss and dung stirred among the alleys
With the sweat of the beast on the legs and the monthlies
It mixed with the fragrance given by the estoracales

And gave my copla its bodily aromas
That's why it travels in the wind through the cardinal points
Carrying the creole message of ancestral customs
Sometimes spending nights lulling windows

To draw passionate sighs from the ladies
It rises with the dawn just before the sun rises
To knock down the dew with its breath in the straw
And clean the animals' backs with its beak

The aroma of coffee with the morning breezes
Play together with my copla combing the bushes
Then it gets lost on its own in those chiribitales
To nap at noon under the palm groves

With the afternoon, it wakes up to the trill of the orioles
Paraulatas and arrendajos, conotos and cardinals
The carrao in the estuary and the rooster in the borales

My copla along with the birds hold grand festivals
With melodies that adorn the evening landscapes
My copla erases sorrows, my copla removes evils
And it has the taste of August given by the maniritales
And it's sweet from matajei and honey from wild hives

My copla is the chunchulito that lives in the topochales
That gives molasses to the decent and torments the rivals
Go on, Jose Archila, register the materials
Because now my copla has supplies in the bags

My warrior and creole copla goes in the musical notes
With the indomitable impetus of the whirlwinds
That's why it's not stopped by the radio bans
Of those who try to impose their intentional vetoes

That's where my creole copla without personal grudges
Lets its spiritual gifts come to the surface

My copla is the one that grows in crucial moments
It doesn't rush, it doesn't lag behind, it stays in its senses
My copla hasn't practiced ceremonies or rituals
That's why it goes for the simple and acts in normal ways

My copla doesn't see color, nor racial signs
Because God put his manners in it through the plains
Of course, it admits that it has tasted earthly pleasures
But it sees the capital sins from the side

My copla doesn't aspire to the highest pedestals
Nor does it claim individual achievements
Because my copla flourishes from what God gives it
Which is the essence with which he made the minerals
The seas and the firmament, without models or manuals

That's why my copla has the freshness of the springs
It quickly adapts to seasonal environments
To the heat in summers, to the autumn winds
To the mud in winter and to spring nights
To the fury of the lightning that announces the storms

My copla is in the rising, in the jet and the torrents
It dances with the whirlwind that gets lost in spirals
Taking away the leaf litter and transmuting the sands

My copla is in the mirror of the water in the morichales
And the rooster's clock in punctual early mornings
My copla goes in the little breeze that sways the gamelotales
In the pull of the fish in the nailo and the guamales
In the lagoon and the herons, in the zurro and the topiales

My copla suffers and forgets, fights epic battles
Against the adverse, it stands firm like metals
And before the tender, maternal feelings sprout

My copla is in the small farm with the working hours
In the noise of the stone grinding the three channels
In the clink of the shovel stirring the yucales
In the cloth of the boy birdwatching the mizales

My copla is the axe blow in the caramacatales
And the jump of the hoe in March in the terronales
My copla without descending from professional castes
Elorza opened the direct path to its ideals

For this reason, my copla, although humble citales
You have to give it extra corn, but that's by quintals
And I offer them in homage to my main roots

My parents who have already passed away, may God have them in the humbrales
Of glory with Him, in the celestial realms
When they died, they took my original bites with them

That's why my copla is creole, authentic and unmatched
And whoever wants to verify it, look for worldwide records
They will never find another with my fingerprints.