Oda a Mi Generación

On the 27th days of May of the year 70
A man rises above his defeats
He asks for the floor
Moments before going crazy
He is not a man

He is a juggler of a generation
He is not a man
He is perhaps an object of amusement
A common toy of history
With a monogram that says jester
That man is me
That man is me

But I must say that I was born
In the past and I will not return
That's why one day I saw myself in the present
With one foot there, where death lives
And another foot suspended in the air

Looking for a place
Claiming land from the future to rest
That's how we are, me and my brothers
With a precipice in balance
And with glass eyes
And with glass eyes

Now I want to talk about poets
About dead poets and living poets
About so many boys, children of this party
And the torture of being themselves
Because it must be said that some die

Over their paper
For living life to its full size must hurt
Our life is so high, so high
That to touch it, one almost has to die
To then live

I do not deny what falls to me
I do not regret it because I am not guilty
But I would have wanted to be able to play
All death there, in the past
Or all life in the future

That I cannot reach
And with this I do not mean to say that I start crying
I know we must keep sailing
Keep demanding more from me each time
Until I can continue or burst