España en Marcha

We are who we are.
Enough of History and tales!
Let the dead rest! Let them bury their dead as God commands.

We don't live in the past,
we don't dwell on memories.
We are, turbid and fresh, a water that overwhelms its beginnings.

We are the being that grows.
We are a straight river.
We are the fearsome blow of an unresolved heart.

We are barbarians, simple.
We are to death the Iberian
who has never managed to show himself pure, whole, and true.

We feed on what was,
transforming ourselves we grow
and thus we are who we are blow by blow and dead by dead.

To the streets! It's time
to walk naked
and show that, since we live, we announce something new.

I do not deny my origin
but I say we will be
much more than what is known, the factors of a beginning.

Spaniards with a future
and Spaniards who, for being so,
although they embody the past, cannot consider it good.

I remember our mistakes
with bad blood and good wind.
Anger and light, father of Spain, I return to wake you from your dream.

I return to tell you who you are.
I return to think of you, suspended.
I return to fight as it matters and to start with what I start.

I don't want to justify you
as a lawyer would,
I would like to be a poet and write your first verse.

My Spain, battle
that torments my insides,
to save myself and save you, I spell you with love.