Golondrinas

Swallows of a single summer
with constant longing for distant skies.
Creole, wandering and traveling soul,
to try to stop it is a chimera...
Swallows with fever in their wings
pilgrims drunk with emotion...
Always dreaming of other paths
the crazy compass of your heart...

Criollita of my people,
pebeta of my neighborhood,
the swallow one day
its flight will stop;
there will be no cloud in her eyes
of vague distances
and in your loving arms
her nest will build.
His longing for distances
will be stilled in your mouth
with the sweet fragrance
of your old love...
Criollita of my town,
pebeta of my neighborhood,
with folded wings
I too must return.

On your routes that cross the seas
a blue trail of songs blooms
and at the spell of new landscapes
your clear cordage sounds intensely.
With your eternal sowing of harmonies
Faraway lands saw you pass by;
other moons followed in your footsteps,
your only destiny is always to fly.