Paso Obligado

Some skinny little place
that nobody pays attention to
and where nobody seeks shelter
neither with sun nor storm
It's what's left for him
and a very unclear past
The round silence remained
from the well of a hidden place
As a hidden witness
by the vault and the weeds
Where the soul of a frightened one
made so much noise
Some bored mouse
takes over the bench and is the owner
of that piece of dream
that was once true
And there's a somewhat dead air
embracing a southern corner
The old corral is no longer there
enduring the shakes
of a bunch of mischievous ones
throwing their hips to the wind
Neither the wine from the barkeeper
nor the murmur of the workers
It's no longer the obligatory stop
for troops and wagons
Today there are plenty of tracks
to beg or to stand still
and today there's no respect
for the mud or the oxen
Not even the old shack remains
of what it used to be back then
and like a bronze tile
the rider swallowed it
What a fate the great seven
without anyone answering to it
What times have passed
at the 'Obligatory Stop' tavern
Those of the ventures
to show off on Sundays
and the poor gringo's monkey
selling clothes on credit
That white man with the loaded dice
full of bad luck
And misfortune in the cane
that always collects and never pays
And in the 'there goes' of the dagger
the slow one goes through the entrails
With a flower the day dies
and the envido remains unfinished
Of another Sunday that has been
refuge of the week
Where each gaucho threads
what happened for Monday
Some countryman would say
how much he won if he won
But surely if he lost
he wouldn't make a fuss
Because the game and pride
tend to end in 'me'
I win because I'm good
and if I lose it's not because I'm bad
But when the belt slips
to put it on the table
the dice cup's mouth
has a wooden tongue
I never saw anyone win
neither at dice nor at the dice game
Because if someone won
he surely found an enemy
from that moment on
And there at the 'Obligatory Stop'
it was a matter of every moment
to drink and eat cheaply
quebracho, salami, and cheese
While the wise one observes
licking his lips a cat
Sometimes a singer
used to come by occasionally
With a painted woman
who rode the bicycle
In other words, the Recoleta
of the money they donated
For the gentleman with the green collar
the color of hope
I would see her dance this dance
just for a little piece of leather
And penny after penny
she would stuff her belly
A woman with a big belly and chest
as if to pull a cart
She threw the nickel in a jar
and the paper in her cleavage
While the big black man
let out a coughing D
With a sign saying 'today they debut'
hanging from a nail in front
alerting people
that they had performed in Bahía
in theaters and pilgrimages
and in very decent places
Those works of art
never ended well
There was always some part
where love wanted to sneak in
But the singer's belt
had what it took to calm you down
When the lantern fell asleep
for lack of kerosene
On the side where the store was
a candle was lit
As if to give protection
to the embers of the caldén
A mistreated kettle
with shiny cheeks
Amidst the smoky darkness
exhales its white breath
over the tip of a greasy
and slippery white
Nobody says a word
when the rooster crows
Each one is a little lamb
who knows like the boss
He stops with the intention
to say goodbye soon
Some will come tomorrow
others next month
Or on Sunday if they have
what it takes to lower the shelf
There's nothing as important
as filling the glass
Some troop will spend the night
and some wandering owl
will observe creaking
every strange movement
And the dream of the guard
will grow in size
Surely there won't be a milonga
for the one who arrived boasting
He will have to look whistling
and thus he will keep his aim
Because what is found by whistling
is not found in wine
No troop foreman
who feels like a foreman
will ever let
any man under his command
disrupt by drinking
or start slipping
A good cane heel
when the frost is fierce
is shared on the go
then stored in the cart
And even if they give it to you in a jar
it must be administered
'Obligatory Stop' tavern
on the Hilo road
There's not even a wick left
to give light to a memory
The yesterdays were slow
your death was a hiccup
Who could have been the countryman
who had to bring you down
They must have knocked you down
without mercy or consideration
Or will the one who gave you the first blow
have remorse
Only God knows where
your heartfelt heart will be
Drowsy and brave
facing south like a pure male
If even the wind was left orphan
seeking to hit you on the head
After so much rubble
mixed with the back
One knows that there is no how
nor why, nor all together
if each thing is not put
in its own volume
For the one who walks in the ditch
there will be no shortage of pigsty
But if the man is true
and wants to push the cart
even if it skids in the mud
he will surely find a path
Time has truths
that nobody can argue
It tends to look
how one enters space
And pushes it slowly
so as not to miss
And one gets into life
as through a crack
To tighten the screw
of one's own humanity
And where one finds that truth
one fears and covers up
Covering up the truth out of fear
is older than the frost
The poor live silently
in a corner of the julepe
Disoriented and clueless
like a louse in the bald spot
The rich fear and the poor fear
and the lord and the scrubbing brush
Fear like the clapper
in the man's bell
and let no one be surprised
if it rings very low
Where nobody would think
that there could have been a story
the old 'Obligatory Stop' shakes my memory
Like a calm colt
without time, peace, or glory
How history gets dirty
of our poor existence
If by a non-existence of law
that sets a milestone
Man is like a lion
he eats even his conscience
Everything is old if it's yesterday
and for some it's tradition
My reason gets mixed up
because I can't find an answer
cowboys taking care of horses
to hit them with the facón
There at the 'Obligatory Stop'
southern and beloved land
Honor was defeated
by five slices of bologna
and the gauchos make teeth
with stuffed horses
I saw them on Hilo Street
herding them to fatten them up
Then they come to take them
for slaughter, poor things
each nag is a cry
that the Homeland gives when mourning
One sings to the adobe
that was once a ranch
Not because it has been or is
better or better than another
One has the soul of a colt
and maybe a heart
One says to life
good morning every morning
One always wants
to be better every day
but feels rebelliousness
to live in a mess
The same men who were
saddling a wild horse
The same ones who in the barn
took care of them from the frost
Today they give them on the descent
the final push
I have been given an explanation
that it is a legal business
If it's right or wrong
I don't know by law
But I've seen more than once
the eyes of the animal
Why is life
putting us in such fierce things
In any corner
the business presents itself to us
and with Mandinga as a partner
not even the mother is left out
My old 'Obligatory Stop'
some black ghost
will approach every now and then
longing for the sweet song
of some morning thrush
But when the morning star arrives
it will turn into a mist of tears
Tears for all the past
and the present that belongs to everyone
And so foreign to its lonely and stubborn way
like a tremendous sin
without forgiveness or accommodation
Will it be the rain or will it be
the streams of sorrows
where serene things come together
the things one has lived
or will it be the polite goodbyes
that condemn us
Every time I walk around
I think of the men who walk around
And some who even fly
riders of arrogance
stirring up ignorance
which we use as a whip
I'm scared of so much silence
it hurts, I feel it hurts my chest
there's an absurdity lurking
waiting for a slip
to see me roll defeated
before making the climb
I go, I don't know where
in this aging
Strange mysterious branches
start growing in me
And they make me cry for the things
that made me flourish
What good are memories
my old 'Obligatory Stop'
if everything is to be stained
by the disgrace of a horse
things that not even for a foreigner
the things I've sung here