Maldigo del Alto Cielo

I curse the high sky
The star with its reflection
I curse the tiles
Sparkles of the stream
I curse the low ground
The stone with its outline
I curse the fire of the oven
Because my soul is in mourning

I curse the statutes
Of time with its embarrassments
How much will be my pain

I curse the mountain range
Of the Andes and the coast
I curse all the narrow
And long strip of land
Also the peace and the war
The frank and the fickle
I curse the perfumed
Because my longing is dead

I curse everything certain
And the false with the doubtful
How much will be my pain

I curse the spring
With its blooming gardens
And the autumn, the color
I truly curse it
And the passing cloud
I curse it so much
Because I seem broken
I curse the whole winter

With the sincere summer
I curse profane and holy
Great will be my pain

I curse the solitary
Figure of the flag
I curse any emblem
The Venus and the Araucaria
The song of the canary
The cosmos with its planets
The earth and all its cracks
Because I am afflicted by sorrow

I curse the wide sea
Its ports and coves
Great will be my pain

I curse the Moon and the landscape
The towns and the deserts
I curse the dead for being dead
And the living from king to page
The birds with their plumage
I curse them cold-bloodedly
The classrooms, the sacristies
Because I am afflicted by pain

I curse the word love
With all its sorcery
How much will be my pain

I finally curse the white
The black with the yellow
Bishops and acolytes
Ministers and preachers
I curse them singing
The free and the prisoner
The sweet and the quarrelsome
I put my curse

In Greek and in Spanish
Because of a treacherous one
How much will be my pain