Canción con Todos

I go out to walk
through the cosmic waist of the south.
I step into the region
most vegetal of wind and light.
I feel as I walk
all the skin of America on my skin
and in my blood flows a river
that releases its flow in my voice.

Sun of High Peru,
face Bolivia, tin and solitude,
a green Brazil,
kisses my Chile copper and mineral.
I climb from the south
towards the entrails of America and total,
pure root of a shout
destined to grow and explode.

All the voices, all,
all the hands, all,
all the blood can
be a song in the wind.
Sing with me, sing,
American brother.
Release your hope
with a shout in your voice.

(Encircle the Equator
from light Colombia to the coffee valley.
Cuba of high sound
names in the wind ancestral Mexico.
Blue continent
that in Nicaragua seeks its root
so that man fights
from country to country
for peace.)