Me Despedí de Mi Llano

My plains, I have to leave
Dear plains, what I don’t know is when I’ll be back
I’ll always remember you
Because in your heart, I left my marks
How can I forget you
When my childhood was left in a valley
Humble little ranch, palm
Surrounded by hills on the banks of the Meta
So I’m going to ask you a favor, dark heron
That when the foam that plays with the current goes down
Tell him that he’s gone, the one who shared his sorrows
One afternoon on the bank, sitting on a ceiba trunk
And don’t worry, seagull, that happy from the puddle flies
That when summer comes, all this turns to sand
The gabanes will help you gather the puddles
So you can raise your chicks with coporos and arencas

Even though I see new things in the city, I won’t forget my land
From when I walked barefoot but had breakfast, lunch, and dinner
Because I’d go to the hills with a bag full of seeds and pits
I killed many guacharacas and rabiblancas with my slingshot
I’m proud to be a criollo plainsman of very good stock
What I’ll miss the most is that old little bed
That was a small pile of guafa with dry topocho leaves
Covered in scraps, and that was the mattress
A coffee plant over there by the shore, a restless curiarita
Accomplice to my work when I lived off fishing
I’ll still have the scales of yamú and palometa
Smell of capybara blood, gaban, and herons.