Escucha esta melodía: Dios nunca muere
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CANAS BLANCAS A MI MADRE
con su pausado silencio,
cargando en tus nietos sombra
que yo romperé callado.
Despierto estaré a sus pasos
como vigilante eterno
muy sereno a los reproches:
Como piedra en la penumbra.
Y cuando los vea en su andar,
con el alma hecha pedazos
escucharás mi plegaria
escondida entre los labios.
Hacia ti vendrán mis pasos
suspirando por tu ausencia,
reviviendo mil consejos:
Los que me diste sin contar.
¡Lloro tu cabello negro!
Aquel que llené de canas,
con besos de niño pobre
y mil caricias de invierno.
Otras rosas en canteras
quieren cubrir las lápidas
de un dolor que se resigna,
de una ausencia que se llora.
¡Qué costosos son los hijos
que se llevan nuestras vidas!
¡Son la herencia de la sangre!
¡Es el pago al cielo eterno!
¡Perdóname madre mía!
Tú me diste la existencia:
si no amé como debía,
¡es la vida quien me cobra!
Por eso no traigo flores:
¡Estos brotes son tus nietos!
Ellos pintarán mi pelo
Como yo a ti: con canas blancas.
WHITE GRAY GRAY ON MY MOTHER
Today that life catches up with me
with her claims of insomnia,
I pray, like you, to my children
in front of their sleeping beds.
I was the reason for your sleeplessness;
sheltered between your kisses
I didn’t understand the twilights
that bound your dawns.
In my hands, without knowing it,
your hair was dyed:
from blacks they became white
and your smiles whiter.
Yesterday I was in your arms
Call with the same force,
As a slave without domain:
I am giant and I am small!
Today when I feel sorry
for the slightest contempt,
for caresses that in the air
They die eager for a kiss,
I look for someone else’s smile:
the caress you waited for;
that of that one, your naive child
who never experienced a claim,
and I ask God, give my face
the masks of life,
cold in the face of a disdain that hurts!
Smile to the wounded chest!
My long nights will come
with its slow silence,
carrying your grandchildren shadow
that I will break silently.
Awake I will be at your steps
as eternal watchman
very calm to reproaches:
Like a stone in the dark.
And when I see them in their walk,
With the soul shattered
you will hear my prayer
hidden between the lips.
My steps will come towards you
sighing for your absence,
reliving a thousand tips:
The ones you gave me without counting.
I cry for your black hair!
The one I filled with gray hair,
with kisses from a poor child
and a thousand winter caresses.
Other roses in quarries
they want to cover the tombstones
of a pain that is resigned,
of an absence that is mourned.
How expensive are children
that take our lives!
They are the inheritance of blood!
It is payment to eternal heaven!
Forgive me, my mother!
You gave me existence:
If I didn’t love as I should,
It’s life that charges me!
That’s why I don’t bring flowers:
These sprouts are your grandchildren!
They will dye my hair
Like me to you: with white gray hair.