La Gaviota
Silvio Rodriguez
The Seagull
The days were running towards the end of the war
there was a soldier returning unharmed:
unharmed from the deadly cold of the earth,
unharmed from flowers of horror in his room.
He raised his eyes, took a deep breath,
the word 'sky' formed on his lips
and as if there was nothing else in the world
a seagull flew across the sky.
Seagull, seagull, waltz of balance,
incredible cadence, call on the shoulder.
Seagull, seagull, whiteness of lily,
air and dancer, seagull of wonder.
Where are you going, song of the breeze,
so fast, so still,
shot in the temple and shrapnel in laughter,
seagull that passes and takes away life?
The days were running towards the end of the war,
a seagull flew by, flying
slowly, like a time of love that closes,
empire of wing, of sky, and of when.
Seagull, seagull, waltz of balance,
incredible cadence, call on the shoulder.
Seagull, seagull, whiteness of lily,
air and dancer, seagull of wonder.
The days were running towards the end of the war,
a seagull flew by
and the one who remained unharmed fell to the ground:
orphaned, naked, wounded, bleeding.
