Paroles et traduction Leonardo Favio - La Abuelita Zenaida - En Vivo

La Abuelita Zenaida - En Vivo

Cumbia

De mañanita la Zenaida sale temprano del tugurio
De mañanita la Zenaida sale temprano del tugurio
Arremolina su tabaco se va a vender frutos maduros
Arremolina su tabaco se va a vender frutos maduros

Zenaida (baila la cumbia)
Zenaida (baila la cumbia)
Zenaida (baila la cumbia)
Zenaida (baila la cumbia)

Oh, viejita del manglar
Hormiga de ciudad
Tu fruta me sabe a cumbia
Cumbia, cumbia de la playa
Tu fruta me sabe a cumbia
Cumbia, cumbia de la playa

Ay, Zenaida (baila la cumbia)
Zenaida (baila la cumbia)
Zenaida (baila la cumbia)
Zenaida

Paso el tiempo y con los años
Un nieto la visitaba
Era su nieto mayor, su orgullo
Sus ojos, su alma
Se parecía al abuelo y como él se llamaba Manuel
Como aquel Manuel que hizo mujer a Zenaida
Y que le sembró 10 hijos
Y al que un día por bobadas
Se lo trajeron aún tibio, muerto de una puñalada

El nieto que era su orgullo cuando al ranchito llegaba
La levantaba en sus brazos y le besaba las canas
Y le decía: "mi reina tú eres mi novia más cara"
A veces venía picado de aguardiente y la obligaba a bailar con él, la cumbia
Y la Zenaida bailaba
Él se llamaba Manuel, Manuel Hernández Peralta
Y era sus ojos, su orgullo
El brote más lindo y bueno que dejó a Zenaida

Él la obligaba a bailar y ella la cumbia bailaba
(Baila la cumbia)
Zenaida (baila la cumbia)
Zenaida

Pero un domingo que vino su Manuel a visitarla
Lo noto como distante, no reía, no charlaba
Ni la invito a bailar cumbia
Se pasó toda la tarde tendido sobre la cama
Recién al anochecer y cuando ya se marchaba le dijo
Dándole un beso, allí debajo la almohada le he dejado una cartita
Léala recién mañana
La volvió a besar muy fuerte y se alejó
Lloviznaba

La Zenaida no durmió, no rezo, solo fumaba
Y esperaba el amanecer para así leer la carta que acariciaba en sus manos
Como si fueran los ojos del nieto hermoso del alma
A lo lejos canta un gallo y eso trae la mañana
Luego fueron las bocinas, los autos
Abrió la carta

Abuelita, abuelita no se apene
Cuando usted lea esta carta yo habré partido a Miami en un barquito de carga
A buscar otro destino
Quiero ver como sacarla de este tugurio del rancho
Porque a mí me parte el alma verla ya tan viejecita salir todas las mañanas
A vender frutos maduros por las calles bogotanas
Yo parto con un amigo, rece por él y por mi alma
Doblo la carta Zenaida, armo y encendió un cigarro
Y se fue a vender los frutos por las calles bogotanas

De mañanita la Zenaida sale temprano del tugurio
De mañanita la Zenaida sale temprano del tugurio
Arremolina su tabaco se va a vender frutos maduros
Arremolina su tabaco se va a vender frutos maduros

Zenaida (baila la cumbia)
Zenaida (baila la cumbia)
Zenaida (baila la cumbia)
Zenaida

Al poco tiempo Zenaida comenzó a recibir cartas
Dos de septiembre, New York
Abuelita, dulce vieja, rece mucho que a Dios gracias mis cosas andan muy bien
Y estoy ganando harta plata, ya la imagino viviendo en un palacio
Rodeadas de hermosas matas y flores tendido sobre una hamaca
Mientras yo le doy mil besos, dulce abuelita Zenaida

Diciembre cinco, Miami
Hoy pensé mucho en usted abuelita de mi alma
Mis cosas marchan mejor, pero a veces hay nostalgia
Cuando regrese le haré bailar la cumbia mi alma
Abuelita he conocido una muy linda muchacha
Es, es caleña de nombre Ana
Yo sé que le va a gustar
Yo le hablo mucho de usted, de mi abuelita Zenaida
Que vende frutos maduros por las calles bogotanas

Un atardecer de enero regresaba la Zenaida
Al ranchito del tugurio después de vender papaya
Y se acercó al mercadito a comprar para su cena
Unos pancitos calientes, un poco de carne, unas papas
En un diario de ese día le envolvieron lo comprado
Y al trotecito fumando bajo una suave llovizna llegó al tugurio Zenaida

Llegó un poquito cansada
Encendió el fuego, las velas que siempre le acompañaban
Fue a desenvolver el pan, las panelitas, las papas
Cuando descubrió la foto que una página ocupaba
Del periódico que trajo del mercadito Zenaida
Allí estaba su Manuel junto a una hermosa muchacha
Él tendido cara al cielo, ella abrazaba una itáca
Y en las manos de Manuel otra arma se dibujaba
La Zenaida se sentó, se acomodó bien las gafas y leyó

New York, New York Manuel Hernández Peralta y Ana María Peralta
Dos jóvenes colombianos murieron esta mañana tras un duro enfrentamiento
Se los buscaba hace tiempo por traficar marihuana
Se resistieron y fueron acribillados a balas
La Zenaida pestañeó y volvió a leer más calma

Ana María Peralta, musito para sí, "oh muchachito, muchacho
Muchacho mal educado, se casa y no dice nada"
Se sonrió, miro la foto, "pero es linda la caleña
Es bonita la muchacha, muchacho mal educado casarse y no decir nada"
Luego recortó la foto, la alisó sobre la almohada
Puso al fuego la panel, guardó el pan, guardó las papas
Y se fue junto a la puerta es esperar mientras fumaba
A que pasara la lluvia, para ir a vender papaya

Ay, viejita del manglar, hormiga de ciudad
Tu fruta me sabe a cumbia
Cumbia, cumbia de la playa
Tu fruta me sabe a cumbia
Cumbia, cumbia de la playa

Ay, viejita del manglar, hormiga de ciudad
Tu fruta me sabe a cumbia
Cumbia, cumbia de la playa
Zenaida (baila la cumbia)
Zenaida (baila la cumbia)
Zenaida (baila la cumbia)
Zenaida

Y esto que sigue señores, créanlo que es mi palabra
Resulta que unas mañanas vieron como la Zenaida
Se volaba, se volaba con la brisa se volaba
Se dice que el Dios obrero al que siempre le rezaba

Un día tuvo deseos de comer una papaya
Que ese fruto tan dulce que suele vender Zenaida
Y dicen que la llamó, pero no murió Zenaida
Sino que se fue en el vuelo a llevarle la papaya
Y vi con mis propios ojos como las nubes cruzaba
Bien a lo lejos su hombre y su nieto la esperaban
Y junto a ellos la caleña Ana María Peralta

Eso lo vio este cantor que no miente cuando canta
Adiós, mi Zenaida, adiós
Adiós, mi vieja Zenaida, yo también me iré muy pronto
Al cielo a comer papaya, cumbia

De mañanita la Zenaida sale temprano del tugurio
De mañanita la Zenaida sale temprano del tugurio
Arremolina su tabaco se va a vender frutos maduros
Arremolina su tabaco se va a vender frutos maduros

Zenaida (baila la cumbia)
Zenaida (baila la cumbia)
Zenaida (baila la cumbia)
Zenaida (baila la cumbia)

Oh, viejita del manglar
Hormiga de ciudad
Tu fruta me sabe a cumbia
Cumbia, cumbia de la playa, Zenaida

(Baila la cumbia)
(Baila la cumbia)
Zenaida (baila la cumbia)
Zenaida (baila la cumbia)
(Baila la cumbia)

Grandma Zenaida - Live

Cumbia

Early in the morning, Zenaida leaves the slum early
Early in the morning, Zenaida leaves the slum early
She rolls her tobacco, she goes to sell ripe fruits
She rolls her tobacco, she goes to sell ripe fruits

Zenaida (dances the cumbia)
Zenaida (dances the cumbia)
Zenaida (dances the cumbia)
Zenaida (dances the cumbia)

Oh, old woman of the mangrove swamp
Ant of the city
Your fruit tastes like cumbia to me
Cumbia, cumbia of the beach
Your fruit tastes like cumbia to me
Cumbia, cumbia of the beach

Ay, Zenaida (dances the cumbia)
Zenaida (dances the cumbia)
Zenaida (dances the cumbia)
Zenaida

Time passed and with the years
A grandson visited her
He was her eldest grandson, her pride
Her eyes, her soul
He looked like his grandfather and like him, he was called Manuel
Like that Manuel who made Zenaida a woman
And who planted 10 children in her
And who one day, because of foolishness
They brought him still warm, dead from a stab wound

The grandson who was her pride when he came to the little ranch
He lifted her in his arms and kissed her gray hair
And he would say to her: "My queen, you are my most expensive girlfriend"
Sometimes he came drunk on brandy and forced her to dance the cumbia with him
And Zenaida danced
His name was Manuel, Manuel Hernández Peralta
And he was her eyes, her pride
The most beautiful and good sprout that Zenaida left

He forced her to dance and she danced the cumbia
(Dance the cumbia)
Zenaida (dances the cumbia)
Zenaida

But one Sunday when her Manuel came to visit her
She noticed him as distant, he didn't laugh, he didn't chat
He didn't even invite her to dance the cumbia
He spent the whole afternoon lying on the bed
Only at nightfall and when he was leaving, he told her
Giving her a kiss, "There, under the pillow, I have left you a little letter"
"Read it tomorrow morning"
He kissed her again very hard and walked away
It was drizzling

Zenaida didn't sleep, she didn't pray, she just smoked
And waited for dawn to read the letter that she caressed in her hands
As if they were the eyes of the beautiful grandson of her soul
A rooster crows in the distance and that brings the morning
Then came the horns, the cars
She opened the letter

"Grandma, grandma, don't worry"
"When you read this letter, I will have left for Miami on a cargo ship"
"To seek another destiny"
"I want to see how to get you out of this slum, out of this ranch"
"Because it breaks my soul to see you, already so old, going out every morning"
"To sell ripe fruits on the streets of Bogota"
"I'm leaving with a friend, pray for him and for my soul"
Zenaida folded the letter, rolled and lit a cigarette
And went to sell the fruits on the streets of Bogota

Early in the morning, Zenaida leaves the slum early
Early in the morning, Zenaida leaves the slum early
She rolls her tobacco, she goes to sell ripe fruits
She rolls her tobacco, she goes to sell ripe fruits

Zenaida (dances the cumbia)
Zenaida (dances the cumbia)
Zenaida (dances the cumbia)
Zenaida

Soon after, Zenaida began to receive letters
September 2, New York
"Grandma, sweet old woman, pray a lot, thank God my things are going very well"
"And I'm making a lot of money, I already imagine you living in a palace"
"Surrounded by beautiful plants and flowers, lying on a hammock"
"While I give you a thousand kisses, sweet grandma Zenaida"

December 5, Miami
"Today I thought a lot about you, grandma of my soul"
"My things are going better, but sometimes there is nostalgia"
"When I return, I will make you dance the cumbia, my soul"
"Grandma, I have met a very beautiful girl"
"She is, she is from Cali, her name is Ana"
"I know you're going to like her"
"I talk to her a lot about you, about my grandma Zenaida"
"Who sells ripe fruits on the streets of Bogota"

One January afternoon, Zenaida was returning
To the little slum ranch after selling papaya
And she went to the little market to buy for her dinner
Some hot rolls, some meat, some potatoes
They wrapped what she bought in a newspaper of that day
And smoking at a trot under a soft drizzle, Zenaida arrived at the slum

She arrived a little tired
She lit the fire, the candles that always accompanied her
She went to unwrap the bread, the panelitas, the potatoes
When she discovered the photo that occupied a page
Of the newspaper that Zenaida brought from the little market
There was her Manuel next to a beautiful girl
He was lying face up to the sky, she was hugging an Ithaca
And in Manuel's hands, another weapon was drawn
Zenaida sat down, adjusted her glasses well and read

New York, New York Manuel Hernández Peralta and Ana María Peralta
Two young Colombians died this morning after a tough confrontation
They had been wanted for some time for trafficking marijuana
They resisted and were riddled with bullets
Zenaida blinked and read again more calmly

Ana María Peralta, she muttered to herself, "Oh little boy, boy
Badly educated boy, he gets married and doesn't say anything"
She smiled, looked at the photo, "But the girl from Cali is pretty
The girl is pretty, badly educated boy, getting married and not saying anything"
Then she cut out the photo, smoothed it on the pillow
She put the panela on the fire, put away the bread, put away the potatoes
And she went next to the door to wait while she smoked
For the rain to pass, to go sell papaya

Ay, old woman of the mangrove swamp, ant of the city
Your fruit tastes like cumbia to me
Cumbia, cumbia of the beach
Your fruit tastes like cumbia to me
Cumbia, cumbia of the beach

Ay, old woman of the mangrove swamp, ant of the city
Your fruit tastes like cumbia to me
Cumbia, cumbia of the beach
Zenaida (dances the cumbia)
Zenaida (dances the cumbia)
Zenaida (dances the cumbia)
Zenaida

And what follows, gentlemen, believe me, it is my word
It turns out that some mornings they saw how Zenaida
She flew away, she flew away with the breeze, she flew away
It is said that the worker God to whom she always prayed

One day he had a craving to eat a papaya
That sweet fruit that Zenaida usually sells
And they say that he called her, but Zenaida did not die
But rather she flew away to bring him the papaya
And I saw with my own eyes how she crossed the clouds
Far away her man and her grandson were waiting for her
And next to them the girl from Cali, Ana María Peralta

This was seen by this singer who does not lie when he sings
Goodbye, my Zenaida, goodbye
Goodbye, my old Zenaida, I too will go very soon
To heaven to eat papaya, cumbia

Early in the morning, Zenaida leaves the slum early
Early in the morning, Zenaida leaves the slum early
She rolls her tobacco, she goes to sell ripe fruits
She rolls her tobacco, she goes to sell ripe fruits

Zenaida (dances the cumbia)
Zenaida (dances the cumbia)
Zenaida (dances the cumbia)
Zenaida (dances the cumbia)

Oh, old woman of the mangrove swamp
Ant of the city
Your fruit tastes like cumbia to me
Cumbia, cumbia of the beach, Zenaida

(Dance the cumbia)
(Dance the cumbia)
Zenaida (dances the cumbia)
Zenaida (dances the cumbia)
(Dance the cumbia)