A les cinquanta estrelles (Dona)
Dona, avui t'escric,
ara que puc encara,
potser demà
no et podré dir estimada.
Tinc el fusell, ai amor,
deixat sobre la taula,
i què et puc dir, ai amor,
que no dugui metralla.
Avui també, ai amor,
he disparat mil bales,
i no porto el cos, ai amor,
ferit per mil mirades.
Qui m'ha donat el dret de la matança?
Qui del fusell n'ha fet unes balances?
M'arriba el clam
de dolor i fam,
morts amb ulls blancs
em són companys.
Faré un camí que ja no té tornada.
Oferiré el meu cos
perquè qualsevol bala
aturi el ritme del cor
que no ha viscut fins ara.
Qui m'ha donat el dret de la matança?...
To the Fifty Stars (Woman)
Woman, today I write to you,
now that I still can,
maybe tomorrow
I won't be able to call you beloved.
I have the gun, oh love,
left on the table,
and what can I tell you, oh love,
that doesn't carry bullets.
Today as well, oh love,
I've shot a thousand bullets,
and I don't have my body, oh love,
hurt by a thousand stares.
Who gave me the right to kill?
Who turned the gun into a scale?
The cry reaches me
of pain and hunger,
dead with white eyes
are my companions.
I will walk a path with no return.
I will offer my body
so any bullet
stops the rhythm of the heart
that hasn't truly lived until now.
Who gave me the right to kill?...