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Song of Tenderness

The skies of my childhood
Had a scent of basil and bread

Mountains of the Virgin Forest, Where Are You?

Mountains of the , where are you?
Those gigantic trees
That were cut down with our axes,
Tearing down the elderberries as they fell.
 
Mountains of the virgin forest, where are you?
I keep chopping and chopping
And I never find anything:
Only forest and boulders, nothing more!
 
I was a day labourer in the time of the taskmasters,
And I walked into the forest with the desire to kill...
And I took out my rage with my ax
Against the trees of the Upper Parana river.
 
Mountains of the virgin forest, where are you?
The timber industry kept tearing you down
And the strength of my arm,
Kept fading in your depths, relentlessly.
 
Mountains of the virgin forest, where are you?
I wish I could enter you through your womb
And fall down the slope
And reach, with the current, the Parana.
 
I was a day labourer in the time of the taskmasters,
And I walked into the forest with the desire to kill...
And I took out my rage with my ax
Against the trees of the Upper Parana river.
 
Mountains of the virgin forest... Where are you?!
 

Old Tile-roofed Mansion

Quarter of Belgrano! 1
Old tile-roofed mansion!
Do you remember, my sister,
The warm nights
Walking on the thoroughfare?
When the nearby train
Left us with an old,
Strange longing
Under the soft
Strength of the rosebush?
 
Everything was so simple:
Like the clear blue sky!
Good, like in the tale
That, during the lovely siestas,
Grandpa would tell us about...
When the little piano
In the dark living room,
Would bleed out the pure
Tenderness of a waltz.
 
[Chorus:]
He's come back to life! He's come back to life!
In the hushed voices of the piano
And, with your hand's subtle spell,
Grandpa's lap will return.
 
Call out to him! Call out to him!
We will live that distant story
For, in that old mansion in Belgrano,
Defeating death itself,
Mother is calling us...
 
Quarter of Belgrano!
Old tile-roofed mansion!
Where's the pond?
Where are your courtyards?
Where are your steel grilles?
You will walk again to the piano,
My dear old sister
And, in its melodies,
The diaphanous days
Of our home, shall live again...
 
Your smile, my sister,
Alleviated my mourning
And, like in the tale
That, during the lovely siestas,
Grandpa would tell us about,
The little piano
In the dark living room
Will, once again, bleed the pure
Tenderness of a waltz...
 
[Chorus:]
He's come back to life! He's come back to life!
In the hushed voices of the piano
And, with your hand's subtle spell,
Grandpa's lap will return.
 
Call out to him! Call out to him!
We will live that distant story
For, in that old mansion in Belgrano,
Defeating death itself,
Mother is calling us...
 

• 1. (3 June 1770 – 20 June 1820), creator of Argentina's flag.

Voices of Hiroshima's Birds

Aaaah... Aah...
 
- Where? Where are they?
 
- Who?
 
- Where are they?
 
- Who? Who?
 
- Men!
 
- I don't know...
 
- Look! Ash flakes! Ash flakes...! Ashes... Ashes...
 
- They've all flown away!
 
- But where? Where to?
 
- I don't know...!
 
- Let's build a nest...! Yes, a nest...
 
- But where? Where? Where...?
 
- I don't know...
 
- Look! Ash flakes! Ash flakes...! Ashes... Ashes...
 
- They've all flown away!
 
- But where? Where to?
 
- I don't know...!
 
- Let's build a nest...! Yes, a nest... A nest...
 
- But where? Where? Where...?
 
Aaaah... Aah...
 
Where?!