Paroles et traduction Ismael Serrano - Luces Errantes

Luces Errantes

Un muchacho vuela una cometa
sobre una ciudad acorralada.
Sobre el muro su figura juega
a pintar cien mil palomas blancas.
Agarra el cordel con esa fuerza
de quien ha perdido casi todo.
No deja escapar a su cometa.
Desde lo alto se verá
su casa, el olivar,
su ayer y su ojalá.

Un hombre vigila la cometa
levantando su mirada al cielo.
El futuro es sólo una promesa
y el hogar tan sólo es un recuerdo.
Lejos de su casa un hombre espera
manos que lo salven del silencio.
Flores de papel el aire lleva
y bajo los escombros
tirita aquella estrella
que marca su retorno.

Luces errantes
en tierra extraña,
sombras del pasado.
Memoria incómoda y frágil,
nuestro legado.
Mírame: existo,
sueño y respiro,
aunque algo cansado.
Llevaré hasta tu casa
ramas de olivo en mis manos.
Futuro aplazado,
duro camino del refugiado.
Luces errantes
en tierra extraña,
sombras del pasado.

Aves de papel hoy sobrevuelan
la playa que fue sangre y espina.
La brisa empuja a mil cometas
como quien sopla sobre una herida.
Agarra el cordel con esa fuerza
de quien ha perdido casi todo.
No deja escapar a su cometa.
Desde lo alto se verá
su casa, el olivar,
su ayer y su ojalá.

Nada saben de olvido y fronteras
el viento que enreda tu cabello
y entre nubes mece a las cometas
que pintan de colores el cielo.
Como un ave que siempre regresa
al lugar en que nacen los sueños,
vuela en lo alto mi dulce cometa.
Y se abrirán mañana
el corazón, la senda
que lleva hasta tu casa.

Luces errantes
en tierra extraña,
sombras del pasado.
Memoria incómoda y frágil,
nuestro legado.
Mírame: existo,
sueño y respiro,
aunque algo cansado.
Llevaré hasta tu casa
ramas de olivo en mis manos.
Futuro aplazado,
duro camino del refugiado.
Memoria incómoda y frágil,
camino a tu lado.
Llevaré hasta tu casa
ramas de olivo en mis manos.
Futuro aplazado,
duro camino del refugiado.
Luces errantes
en tierra extraña,
sombras del pasado

Wandering Lights

A young boy is flying a kite
Over a city under siege.
His playful figure on the wall,
Paints a hundred thousand white doves.
He grips the string with all his might,
Like someone who has lost almost everything.
He won't let go of his kite.
From up high, he'll see
His house, the olive grove,
His past, and his wishes.

A man watches the kite,
Lifting his gaze to the sky.
The future is only a promise,
And home is just a memory.
Far from home, a man waits,
For hands to save him from silence.
Paper flowers dance in the air,
And beneath the rubble,
That guiding star trembles,
Marking his return.

Wandering lights,
In a foreign land,
Shadows of the past.
Uncomfortable and fragile memory,
Our legacy.
Look at me: I exist,
I dream and breathe,
Even if a little tired.
I will bring to your home,
Olive branches in my hands.
Postponed future,
The hard path of the refugee.
Wandering lights,
In a foreign land,
Shadows of the past.

Birds of paper fly today,
Over the beach that was blood and thorns.
The breeze pushes a thousand kites,
Like someone blowing on a wound.
He grips the string with all his might,
Like someone who has lost almost everything.
He won't let go of his kite.
From up high, he'll see
His house, the olive grove,
His past, and his wishes.

They know nothing of oblivion and borders,
The wind that tangles your hair,
And cradles the kites among the clouds,
That paint the sky with colors.
Like a bird that always returns
To the place where dreams are born,
Fly high, my sweet kite.
And they will open tomorrow,
The heart, the path
That leads to your home.

Wandering lights,
In a foreign land,
Shadows of the past.
Uncomfortable and fragile memory,
Our legacy.
Look at me: I exist,
I dream and breathe,
Even if a little tired.
I will bring to your home,
Olive branches in my hands.
Postponed future,
The hard path of the refugee.
Uncomfortable and fragile memory,
I walk beside you.
I will bring to your home,
Olive branches in my hands.
Postponed future,
The hard path of the refugee.
Wandering lights,
In a foreign land,
Shadows of the past.