La meva terra
La meva terra és com un infant,
no dóna gràcies, ni mai sap quan
es torna aspra i plena de fang
o verda i plana i et dóna cant.
La meva terra mai no sap quan
anar endarrera, tirar endavant
plena de nafres, plena de sang,
plena de joia i plena de cant.
No té una flama que digui sí,
però una espurna sempre ho vol dir;
no té una flama que digui no,
però té cendra que ho colga tot.
La meva terra sols té caliu
que dorm i dura dintre d'un niu.
La fusta i jo que volem sortir
esperem flama que ens digui sí.
Uns endavant ens volen portar,
espurnes vives en soledat;
altres ens volen sempre aturats,
la cendra pesa sobre els cansats.
My Land
My land is like a child,
never grateful, never knowing
if it turns harsh and full of mud
or green and flat and gives you a song.
My land never knows
whether to go back, move forward
full of scars, full of blood,
full of joy and full of song.
It doesn't have a flame that says yes,
but a spark always wants to say it;
it doesn't have a flame that says no,
but it has ash that hangs everything.
My land only has warmth
that sleeps and lasts inside a nest.
The wood and I who want to come out
wait for a flame to say yes.
Some want to take us forward,
living sparks in solitude;
others always want us stopped,
the ash weighs on the tired.