Milonga Del Solitario

(Milonga)

I like, from time to time,
to get lost in a drone,
because by droning I see,
that I don't even control myself.

The strings are ordering,
the directions of thought,
and in the slow trot
of a rural milonga,
the best of feeling
is coming out into the field.

No one should think,
that I come in a spirit of revenge.
It's not my fault if on the field,
I have what it takes to gallop.

Whoever wants to beat me,
has to have a good horse.
I will take off my hat,
because that's how I've been taught,
and I consider myself well paid,
entering behind the first.

I have always sung softly,
because I don't find myself in shouting.
I shout when riding a horse,
if I have swayed in the cane.

But trying a verse,
where sorrows are told,
I barely raise my voice
to sing slowly.
Because the one who starts shouting,
doesn't hear his own song.

If the treacherous death,
puts me in a corner,
make me with two whips,
the cross for my headboard.
If I die in my burrow,
looking at the horizons,
I don't want crosses or preparations,
nor messages for the Eternal.
Maybe after winter passes,
the mountain will give me its flowers.

I have sung all night,
with a trembling soul,
because singing is the open wound,
of a sacred feeling.
I have no one by my side,
because I don't seek pity.
I despise charity,
because of the shame it holds.
I am like the lion of the hills:
I live and die in solitude.