Cortando camino

The sky is a poncho full of stars,
the night is the sorrow that envelops my soul,
my horse, the dream that searches for the trace
of that criollita that stole my calm.
My fever travels different roads
and it is useless to search for her in the four winds,
my sweet hope was broken by destiny
entangled in the snare of my feelings.

Like an ox that pulls
stung and sad
is ruminating the weight
of his slave life,
while the yoke
nails him to the yoke
and the brute fatigue

shows in
his drool...

So I go ruminating,
as I cut the field,
the craziest longings
to meet her one day,
to see again
in her pretty face
that good laugh
that I wanted so much...

If it is sad in the night to feel the owl
that squawks its omen of death and ruin,
it is sadder, my rabbit, when the 'chuza' (owl) of pain
of pain sticks its thorn in the gaucho...
And so along the track covered with thistles
I go step by step drowning a sigh
and I carry this pain that hurts me so much
bent on my forehead and tied around my neck.