Herencia pa' un hijo gaucho - Parte III -

Dream pampas guitar
that I need your sadness,
enclose me in the warmth
of your celestial spell,
that in this drop of salt
it's a gaucho who kisses you.

In the divine torrent
of your eternal wandering,
perhaps my slow and sad song
may be assembled,
and in grave bass strings
may want to reach the sky.

If I lack for having too much
what I have in excess when missing,
if I can't thread myself
on your hurt wood,
from the path traveled
I know nothing will remain.

From your mouth I felt the kiss
sweetest and most dreamy.
From your vibrating bosom
the breath that is shady
and I even felt jealous
of the thrush that nested in you.

How good to know that I am
an extension of your being,
how nice it would be to know
if tomorrow when I die
with remains of your wood
I will return to be born as a tree.

What fault does my song have
that a gaucho is its owner,
if it was the gaucho who in his brow
placed his trust,
how can hope
know if it is big or small?

Nobody knows more than I do
with my defect and virtue
where the light reaches
and where it will not reach,
who doesn't want to listen to me
will help me with the cross.

Who teaches what he learned
learns by teaching.
Who sets out to walk
and who has been walking for a while
won't care about the shoe
no matter how much it hurts to walk.

Each man knows a lot
of the little he learned.
It's not worth for what he gave
but for what he will give,
or much will cry
the mother who bore him.

When the arm, passes and remains
the sweat that soaked it,
when the neck hurt
for swallowing a dry bread,
the cloak of time is a fringe
in the history that historized it.

Perhaps no one wanted to give him
more than oblivion to his memory.
And something worse, for not knowing it
man ungratefully
and in the eyes of the cattle
the raven fixes his own.

Ancient way of walking
leaning so as not to fall
the man for not daring
dares to tremendous things.
Sometimes he does them knowingly
and unknowingly other times.

And out of sheer habit
he walks without knowing where
and almost always responds
to the first alert cry.
The cow that enters the garden
knows she shouldn't, but she eats.

No one be amazed or think
that I am ill-mannered.
No one be uncomfortable,
nor anyone feel offended.
I just think and tell you
some things I have gone through.

Whoever wants to listen to me
and whoever doesn't, let him play dumb.
I'm not going to be boastful
because I wasn't born a fish.
I walk on a past
clean, healthy and respectful.

I always had the habit
and out of pure conviction,
to be above all a man
without duplicity or lies,
that's why I raise my lyre
freely, like a sparrow's flight.

My song never intended
to be punishment for anyone.
In reflection I consume myself
and in reflection it is shuffled,
that he who had a straw tail
smoke alone sprouted.

Perhaps my song couldn't
and God willing it would happen
to sing to the cat, to the pear
or to the bread on the good table,
and instead of singing sorrows
true joys.

No one should be hurt
by the truth if they know it.
It may not bring joy,
it may incubate resentment
but that pain is worse
because their soul recognizes it.

There is no truer prison
for the man who has God
than being deaf to every voice
and being mute to every ear.
The soul grows old
without comfort and without forgiveness.

There are patience and resignations
there is time and communion.
Each man is the master
of the most immense thing.
If he cultivates his shame
he will stack up understanding.

Perhaps I have already said it
and I fall into redundancy,
but with great constancy
and repeating it is extracted;
redundancing the cows
grows the estates.

That's why sometimes I repeat
the things I said yesterday.
Repeating doesn't bother me
because the old is new:
all birds lay eggs
then the man is the one who chooses.

Why say good morning
if I already said it yesterday?.
There are things I must see
and there are others I have already seen;
the mixed bird repeats its song
for yesterday, today and tomorrow.

The sun also repeats
and the moon and the stars,
the counter, the bottles
the wind and the downpours,
and in the true song
footprints are repeated.

Don't misunderstand,
in this of repeating.
Each one must follow
where it suits him best.
That's what my mother thought
that's why I'm here.

I feel, think and give myself
but I give myself without usury,
I don't like the fat
that softens because it bothers,
and before pushing the hill
I go down to test the saddle.

I don't know how or why I know how
and because I know,
I know that water is for thirst
and fire for warmth
and I know that all the worst
is better to see it again.

I give myself several reasons
and each one goes with me.
I am my own witness,
my prosecutor, my defender,
and my judge is the honor
of all those I have lived.

No one can judge me
if they don't have a good reason
that is worth for what he has done
and is well recognized.
I don't accept that a moderate
throws sawdust instead of bran.

I want it to cost him little
to understand my explanation.
Sometimes because of being potbellied
he can't reach the belt,
that's why I paint it
thin but strong.

My song must not have
riches of intellect.
I recognize the imperfect
or that someone can criticize me,
but in feeling and truth
I bet the rest on being healthy.

It can't have malice
that for malice he suffered
and I intend to explain
that he who does wrong knowingly,
always gets caught by the prey
and lives patching up.

The man must always think
that in every bad intention
he gives rise to a slip
that can be pernicious:
all fields are slippery
if reason is not had.

The man gets tired of seeing
things he wouldn't want to see:
fences and gates
that sometimes want to stop him.
But the male must bandage them
and must go where he wants.

It is very sad that fear
imprisons the feeling,
it is very sad to be happy
to conceal sadness.
From head to toe
everything grows inside.

And bad will achieve
peace and comfort the suitcase,
he will always be dodging
living on borrowed things:
it also happened to me
for a sad slap.

Everything has its reason
and I had it too.
Everything starts well
but ends badly done.
Every straight path
bends for those who walk on foot.

The conscience does not bend
because it has no price.
And I who was strong
one day lowered my head
and harvested for sadness,
only irony and contempt.

But everything must serve
for true experience:
The wheel gets stuck
by being new or rusty,
but the plowed leagues
put real shine on it.

The light comes from the sky
but man distributes it
and although there is light everywhere
some live in the dark.
But if there is light in the distance
the rest is another matter.

No one should make conscious
what they don't want done to them.
The stars that go out
are sorrows of the firmament,
and I think to myself:
God, give light to my soul!.

I don't know if you can understand
where I want to go.
Some see without looking
some look without seeing,
and I give my opinion
on my own account only.

I told you once
and I tell you again.
And you should be able to notice
without making it complex;
I don't want to give advice,
just show you a feeling.

It is very difficult to understand
the feelings of others.
We all have good
what we lack in bad,
and sometimes, the same years
can confuse us.

And in the long run or short
and no matter how many turns I give,
the shadows always get off
faster than the leg;
they are born next to the espadrille
and grow where they want.

It depends on depending,
every being of independence
depends on providence,
also the premeditated.
It depends on the evidenced
by depending on evidence.

Everything equal is different
and being different is the same.
In full difference
it resembles everything.
Roses are not born from roses
and rose bushes from rose bushes.

One should never envy
the good that another possesses.
Try to earn it and see
that it is fair and deserved:
the well-achieved dish
is neither burped nor kicked.

When you have a stomachache,
don't stay with the desire.
It's fierce to think nonsense
and swallow for not spitting,
nowhere will it go
gurgling like a frog.

Please, don't forget me
and let this remain latent
defend with tooth and nail
the freedom of your land:
remember that in every
mistake the hot iron is found.

Perhaps you don't care
about the things I have gone through.
Perhaps out of pure politeness
you tolerate my argument,
but if you think it's a tale
you will sink into sin.

I have things to tell
like the most mentioned book.
Some I have gone through
others I have seen pass;
in things to relate
I am well authorized.

God put me on this path
and God taught me to verse.
He taught me to remember
and to look sideways,
but if I have made a mistake
the fault is mine alone.

And furthermore I want to clarify
for your feeling and judgment
that even if the dogs chase me
and bite me hard,
I will continue with my reasons
to the very cemetery.

Perhaps my last abode
will be in some cloud
or if I get forgiveness
and God does me the favor,
in my adorned pampas
my heart will sleep.

And the day I stick the guampa
and my body rots.
The day the ear of my bones
unravels,
only God will settle my account
because to Him I surrender my vouchers.

That's why my son the inheritance
that I can leave you
if there is any debt left
from my debts a credit,
if you don't want to lose them
God will manage them.

Perhaps there is a balance
of mistakes I made.
If it were to be so,
don't hesitate to say it,
maybe you'll end up cursing it
if you wanted to cover it up.

Don't deny my will
no matter how much it hurts inside
covering up is a bad school,
that's why I'm denying it;
if I lived making mistakes
I don't want to be a leech.

I don't know if I can leave something
that can be useful.
I know I can't give birth
for being born male,
but don't forget boy
that I helped conceive.

That's why, my son, I repeat
that I don't give you advice,
the song I sing today
and the song I sang yesterday,
tomorrow I will sing it
because I am a true gaucho.