La primera palabra

Mother Earth, my mother, I now sail your womb,
I swim through your flesh, feeling the urge to be born.
On the shore of your tongue, give me doors, companion,
Among all your words, I will be the first.

I strike your saliva with a six-string bull,
From the exciting side of your mouth, I will be born.
Mother, arm me with a walking scream with the weapons that heat up
the milongas of Yupanqui, the bembones of Guillén.

America, give birth to me well.
America, scream at me well.
And America, sing to me in Spanish.
Perched in your blood, just like me,
The birds of the revolution,
Wait for you to tell us what
the lyrics and the tune of your faith are.
America, give birth to me well.
America, scream at me well.
And America, sing to me in Spanish.

Mother Earth, I re-tie the most manly shame,
The roots of your gesture, the waves of your thirst,
With your shooting side, with your shark part,
Defend me, my mother, I'm in a hurry to be born.

I go without money for a cradle, I go without time for death,
Alone in a seashell that remembers, I will grow,
That remembers the high tides of your creoles and counts them
with the almost one voice of Neruda and Gardel.