El Caballo Que No Tuve

To the horse I never had, I called it distance
But distances I found and there my horse didn't walk
Then I understood that it was called hope
Fierce to find it in the field, little horse from nowhere
I myself made a saddle with the leather of my nostalgia

And some stirrups of never and a little cushion of tears
On a nail on the wall, I had a blanket hanging
That I weaved from illusions and embroidered with words
The times I covered myself with that old blanket

Every winter was a rose that time gave me
I picked up the sun from the frost reflected in the morning
And I tied it to the four winds of my imagined blanket
So that my little horse of hope would proudly shine

For the horse I never had, I cut piece by piece
From the leather of a gust of wind, one of those without a soul
With the ring that the dew makes to the early moon
I made a light lasso as if to rope a soul

The halter and the muzzle I took from a calandria
Because I dreamed that with a whistle my freight was enough
I made a whip of clover with silver initials
That I took from a little stream among nacre stones

All for my horse not to walk sparingly
And I even cut a flower to put it as a mark
But the years passed, and hope never arrived
Little horse I never had, your delay no longer matters

The clothes, the clothes I gave away and I have nothing left
To whom do I make a saddle with a little cushion of tears
And a blanket of illusions and embroidered with words
The same ones I didn't have to defend you, hope

When you were far away and I called you distance
And today, and today that I already traveled you, it has not served me at all
Even used you to die from inside my soul
For having a heart and for calling you hope