My dear children of #hive today I am very happy to be with all of you again in week 71 of the Hive Openmic, and today I bring you an emblematic song by the composer Silvio Rodríguez named Ojalá, in accompaniment of my son
El Elegido
Silvio Rodríguez
Siempre que se hace una historia
Se habla de un viejo, de un niño o de sí
Pero mi historia es difícil
No voy a hablarles de un hombre común
Haré la historia de un ser de otro mundo
De un animal de galaxia
Es una historia que tiene que ver con el curso de la Vía Láctea
Es una historia enterrada, es sobre un ser de la nada
Nació de una tormenta
En el sol de una noche
El penúltimo mes
Fue de planeta en planeta
Buscando agua potable
Quizás buscando la vida
O buscando la muerte eso nunca se sabe
Quizás buscando siluetas
O algo semejante
Que fuera adorable
O por lo menos querible, besable, amable
Él descubrió que las minas
Del rey Salomón
Se hallaban en el cielo
Y no en el África ardiente como pensaba la gente
Pero las piedras son frías
Y le interesaban calor y alegrías
Las joyas no tenían alma
Sólo eran espejos, colores brillantes
Y al fin bajo hacia la guerra
¡Perdón! quise decir a la tierra
Supo la historia de un golpe
Sintió en su cabeza cristales molidos y comprendió que la guerra
Era la paz del futuro
Lo más terrible se aprende enseguida y lo hermoso nos cuesta la vida
La última vez lo vi irse entre el humo y metralla
Contento y desnudo
Iba matando canallas con su cañón de futuro
Iba matando canallas con su cañón de futuro.
The Chosen One
Silvio Rodríguez
Whenever a story is made
There is talk of an old man, a child or himself
But my story is hard
I'm not going to talk to you about a common man.
I will make the story of a being from another world
From a galaxy animal
It's a story that has to do with the course of the Milky Way.
It's a buried story, it's about a being out of nowhere.
He was born of a storm
In the sun of a night
The penultimate month
It was from planet to planet
Looking for drinking water
Perhaps looking for life
Or looking for death that you never know
Perhaps looking for silhouettes
Or something like that
Make it adorable
Or at least wantable, kissable, kind
He discovered that mines
King Solomon
They were in the sky
And not in the burning Africa as people thought
But the stones are cold
And he was interested in warmth and joy.
The jewels had no soul
They were just mirrors, bright colors
And at last low to war
Sorry! I meant to the earth
He knew the story of a coup
He felt in his head ground crystals and understood that the war
It was the peace of the future
The most terrible thing is learned right away and the beautiful costs us our lives
Last time I saw him go amid the smoke and shrapnel
Content and naked
He was killing scoundrels with his cannon of the future
He was killing scoundrels with his future cannon.
▶️ 3Speak