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While the richest children become fat
The poorest children die of hunger
and although they say that we are alike,
it is always they who are right.
They say we are sitting in the same boat
both the officer and the sailors.
But how I then try and carry myself
so it's always I who row.
So it is always I who row.
If freedom for the lame one
is to walk precisely where he wants,
and if the silent can be emperor
if he only says so,
yes, then is the shoemaker's boy freedom
to stay by his father's trade
and it is freedom for the poor
that they can buy what they want.
That they can buy what they want.
They say we belong together,
that we are all brothers,
that we will learn to live with each other.
But when the times become scarce
and you will try it like a bond,
then all talk about brotherhood ends
and you take what you can.

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When I Hear Your Voice

When I hear your voice,
Vibrant and gentle,
As if a bird in its cage
My heart jumps;
When I meet your eyes,
As deep and blue as the sky,
My soul rushes to them
Out of my breast;
And I'm happy for some reason,
And I want to cry,
And all I really wish
Is to embrace you.
Thank you for taking the time to read my translation, and I hoped you liked it! In the event that you feel it is good enough to be shared with others, please don't forget to credit me as the author. Thanks again!

The Death of Rucio Moro

I can't be, my friend!
My days were darkened,
My joy took flight
When I least expected it.
A sad morning, I felt losing my treasure,
My horse 'Rucio Moro1' died,
The one that I always rode it.
They found him dead in the paddock,
In the paddock, with the broken neck;
It seems that some lightning
Struck him directly.
Who would imagine
That, to my little horse
Something bad was waiting for him,
To take his life,
Leaving my soul in mourning.
Having heard the news, I ran immediately
Seeing how the stable was a little lonely,
I arrived at the place where my horse was,
I saw the impacts of a lightning
In the middle of four palm trees.
But on the bank of the river,
The mare 'Zaina2' galloped
With other beasts,
Moving in circles, neighing,
And very desperate.
Poor of my horse Rucio!
Kneeling and with my head down.
When I went to close his eyes
Great tears streamed from him.
The breeze came to dismount hopes
While a white heron
Was seen in the creek,
A limpkin sang on the top of a tree
And a sad paraulata3 silenced the savannah.
In the sands of the river, my Rucio Moro
Left his legs marked
When he went with his mare
To frisk on the beach.
The rope of my love,
Of my love
Appeared ruptured
For a few pulls
By a twist of fate.
A 'goodbye friend' came from my heart,
I felt great desolation
When I turned my back on him.
A big hole
Where his body could fit,
And on top of the pile of dirt
Put my hat 'pelo e 'guama'4.
Why do I want the morning dew?
My horse Rucio,
Moisten my prayer
And the dawn of time
Give him his early grace.
Let he little birds
That come from the mountain
Bring serenade for him,
So that his black path
Becomes in a feat.
The afternoon fell
Painted in red,
How many moons, how many suns
Presaged my nostalgia!
The Goldfinch that trumpeted
My joy went away,
Oh, piece of my life,
Remnant of my childhood.
Cherub of my love,
Of my love,
Closeness of my distance.
How much I wanted to take
The fragrance from the apple mint!
I confine myself in despair
Of that star
That flickers and moves,
He who dies slowly
Molded to my hope.
My horse Rucio, you've gone out of the barnyard
Become a vigorous wind,
You broke the door lock.
You never thought
That death was waiting for you,
Your bad luck was the culprit
That led you to this trap.
Between canvases of memories,
My horse, your footprints are inert,
For your many friends
As a spring water of longings.
Today, your destiny is a bongo5,
A lost bongo
Of rowing and lever,
Stranded and abandoned
On the confines of Arauca River.
The saddles and the muzzle ask with pain:
Why the treacherous fate
Would not change his home?
The fence
That supported him,
Also said sadly:
The Coleo6 is mourning.
There is a murmur
From the 'Coso' to the 'Tapón'7
Between words cut off,
And the girls share
Golden ribbons like the rain.
With the summer evening,
There in the mountain
You can hear the cicada singing,
And the wind takes an afternoon
Of nostalgia in its wings.
The jagüey8 is offering fresh water,
While there, in the caney9,
My wife waits for me.
Arrogant scream of sovereign feeling,
You will not die
While the savannah exist.
From an eastern extremity,
In Venezuela,
By the Monagas state,
Until the impetuous Meta River
in the Colombian lands.
Going up the Orinoco River ,
The Apure, Casanare and the Vichada Rivers,
For you to die of old age
In the waves of the Arauca River.
  • 1. It's the name of the horse.
  • 2. It's the name of the mare.
  • 3. It's a resident bird of South America (from Colombia and Venezuela)
  • 4. The 'Sombrero pelo e' guama' or ' 'Sombrero de cogollo' is a hat made with the leaves of the date palms in Venezuela.
  • 5. A kind of canoe
  • 6. The 'Coleo' or 'Manga de coleo' is a traditional Venezuelan and Colombian sport, very similar to a rodeo. [Ref.]
  • 7. The 'Juez de coso' and 'Juez de tapón' are some of the judges that make up the coleo.
  • 8. Name of a tree that grows in the Venezuelan plains.
  • 9. It's a house/establishment made of wood and thatched roof or corrugated metal.
  • En: Total, partial or modification reproduction of this lyrics without the express and/or written permission of the author is prohibited. All translations on this website are protected by ''.

Enjovher® All Right Reserved.
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The Moths

It was a year [when] we were moths, not blood-thirsty and light,
We plaited the River of Time into melodies and tunes.
Back then the Rver of Time was only as deep1 as a small stream,
And we could hear from the lighthouse: 'We'll meet soon, good-bye,
On the Moon, on the Moon,
In the land where we're all alive.'
And the small lights sang along: 'Here we are lying at the bottom of the river,
The firemen and the fishermen are black and ugly.
Discordant choir of the firemen and the fishermen from the fish burrows,
We don't know evil, we don't remember our home, we only sing piteously.
We sing about the Moon, about the Moon,
About the land where we're all alive.'
Then the moan sounded over the water: 'I'm not a fisherman, I'm a postman,
The clowns are all around me, the nameless jesters!
Can't understand them, can't help them. Get away, you mummers!
I'm here too, at the bottom of the river, I'm lacking a hand and a leg,
I'm all made of pain and sorrow,
My eyes are like plums.
Tell my relatives, let them mourn for me,
Don't let them mourn for me, I'll wait for them aside.
On the Moon, I'll wait on the moon,
In the land where we're all alive.'
And he howled so drawlingly, and it was clear he wasn't a fisherman.
He rather wept than sang:
'I've been captured here for so many years, and through the surface of the spring floods
I see everything the other way around and move backwards,
The tides drag me.
The house with ivy, the window in the wall and the curtain on the window -
Everything's blurred through the wave
Like on the Moon, in the wave like on the Moon,
Like in the land where we're all alive.'
Suddenly he burst into screaming: 'I'm not some kind of a wag!
I'm not like some others and I'm not a heel2! I'm all in sores!
The master of this silence allows me to have dreams,
But these are dreams from the Moon, but these are dreams from the Moon,
From the land,
From the land where we're all alive.'
Then he kind of tensed up and began to creep out to our shore.
Unable to get out to the shore, he still tries to crawl
And moves the spine of his brown back across the waves.
He has no way to the shore but he tries to crawl,
And the dirt runs down from his shoulders, yet he crawls, he croaks, laughing,
Across the moon, laughing, across the Moon,
Across the land where we're all alive.
  • 1. Literally: thick
  • 2. A word that has nothing to do with the context and is only there to rhyme with чета.
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Release Me

It is said that there is a song
With a peculiar sound
It is said that there is a song
That was once sung
This song wants to say:
Release me!
Release me!
Release me!
Have you heard it before?
It is sung like 'Amen'
Again and again
So you will listen
To everything as before
Yes, you still feel
That it will never be over
Wherever there is a wall
Wherever there is censorship
This hit song will remain:
Release me!
Release me!
Maybe you are fine
So what are you supposed to to
With a song like this one
Which is mostly about trouble?
So why would you say:
'Release me'?
Release me!
Release me!
But all over our world
There are many people who live
Without a place
Where there is peace
Who wish and stay free
That is why there is a song
With a peculiar sound
If the wind changes
Maybe there will be
What you are longing for and say:
Release me!
Release me!
Release me!