Слова і музика: Gloria Estefan і Fabio Salgado
Mi Tierra | My Land |
De mi tierra bella De mi tierra santa Oigo ese grito de los tambores Y los timbales al cumbancha Y ese pregón que canta un hermano Que de su tierra vive lejano Y que el recuerdo le hace llorar Una canción que vive entonando De su dolor, de su propio llanto Y se le escucha penar Coro: La tierra te duele, la tierra te da En medio del alma, cuando tú no estás. La tierra te empuja de raíz y cal. La tierra suspira si no te ve más La tierra donde naciste No la puedes olvidar Porque tiene tus raíces Y lo que dejas atrás La tierra te duele, la tierra te da En medio del alma, cuando tú no estás Siguen los pregones la melancolía Y cada noche junto a la luna Sigue el guajiro entonando el son Y cada calle que va a mi pueblo Tiene un quejido, tiene un lamento Tiene nostalgia como su voz Y esa canción que sigue entonando Corre en la sangre y sigue llegando Con más fuerza al corazón Coro Tiene un quejido, tiene un lamento Nunca la olvido La llevo en mi sentimiento, ¡sí señor! Oigo ese grito, vive el recuerdo Corre en mi sangre La llevo por dentro ¡como no! Canto de mi tierra bella y santa Sufro ese dolor que hay en su alma. Aunque esté lejos yo la siento Y un día regreso, yo lo sé Siguen los pregones la melancolía Y cada noche junto a la luna Sigue el guajiro entonando el son Y cada calle que va a mi pueblo Tiene un quejido, tiene un lamento. La nostalgia de su voz Me llega con fuerza al corazón Coro |
From my beautiful land From my holy land I hear this resounding of the tamboras And the timbales at the party * And this cry that a brother sings Who lives far from his land And who the memory makes him cry A song that he lives intoning About his pain, about his own tears And you [can] hear him suffer Chorus: The land hurts you, the land hits you In the middle of the soul, when you are not there. The land puts pressure on you with root and quicklime. The land sighs if it does not see you any more You are unable to forget The land where you were born Because it has your roots And what you leave behind The land hurts you, the land hits you In the middle of the soul, when you are not there The cries come after the melancholy And every night by the moon The peasant keeps on singing the son And every road that goes to my village Has a moan, has a lament Has nostalgia as its voice And this song that keeps on singing Runs in the blood and keeps on getting To the heart with more force Chorus It has a moan, it has a lament I never forget it I carry it in my feeling, yes sir! I hear this shout, the memory lives It runs in my blood I carry it inside, of course! I sing of my beautiful and holy land I suffer this pain that exists in its soul Though it is far away I feel it And one day I [will] return, I know it The cries come after the melancholy And every night by the moon The peasant keeps on singing the sound And every road that goes to my village Has a moan, has a lament. The nostalgia of his voice Gets to my heart with force Chorus |
* | ‘Cumbancha’ is a Cuban word of West African derivation that refers to an impromptu party or musical jam session. Many classic Latin songs refer to the ‘cumbanchero’, a person who knows how to party and have a good time. For those who are familiar with the word, ‘cumbancha’ implies an opportunity to get together with family and friends to dance, sing and celebrate life. |