Añoralgias (Zamba catástrofe)

This zamba I sing to my distant land
warm little town of our interior
fiery land that inspires my love
crumbly, dry, with scorching sun
remembering that burning land
my cry resonates:
what heat!

How I remember you, my beautiful little town
with your humid and dense daytime air
warm nights of fantasy
filled with machines
of infinite charm
and the singing of your fresh little stream,
except in the ten months of drought.
My beloved town was always very calm,
except that time the hurricane passed by,
old homelands, how far away they are!
my dear land, my sweet village,
I'm afraid you may have changed
after the last volcano eruption.

Land that until yesterday sheltered my childhood
I always remember you with my heart,
although that sweet little stream
is now a boiling torrent of lava
that luckily sometimes goes out
when the time of flooding comes.
The hungry wolves howling shake,
when bitten by fierce mosquitoes,
you can't sleep because of the screams
of thousands of vultures darkening the sky,
some earthquake always appears
and in the evening meteorites rain down.

And if I could return to my little town
to my old town where I haven't returned
if I could return to the village
that always calls me, that always waits for me,
if I could return to my town,
I wouldn't do it even if drunk.