Zamba de La Soledad

(Zamba)

When the prayer falls,
with its cloak of autumnal gray,
it gets dark in my heart
the gloomy sadness of my solitude.

The fleeting memory
of my happy hours of yesterday
keeps pounding in my tenacious mind,
like a river of dreams that I feel growing.

I too was a tree,
that as I passed through life gave fruits and shade.
But time, measuring distance,
wants to uproot me by chopping my trunk.

I just want when I leave
not to carry resentment in my soul.
That the bitterness that life had
was sweeter and more beautiful, united to your love.

And if perhaps
my memory could remain,
may a song, with the rhythm of zamba,
be able to sing along with that memory.

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hachar: to chop or use the axe