Soy

I am like the wandering river
that walks through life,
that sings as it goes
and kisses the shores,
that surrenders to fate
and fate withers it away;
I am like the river that passes
and dies day by day.

I am the fruit of the land
that grew with the drought,
that ripened among fields
of wheat and olives
and took root in the summits
where days die;
I am the fruit of my land
that grew with the drought.

My soul is nostalgic
for a time that has passed
and the sadness left
by the loneliness of goodbye;
sometimes it seeks the night
to hide its pain,
it has sadness and nostalgia
for loneliness and love.

And I embrace the wind,
rocking in its lament,
singing softly to it,
telling it a poem:
that we are passing wind
that caresses the earth,
that the paths remain
and the poets die.

And I am of everyone and no one,
of sorrows and joys;
I am of those who stay silent
and I am of those who shout.