Paroles et traduction Pascuala Ilabaca - Pupila de Águila

Pupila de Águila

Pupila de águila

Un pajarillo vino a posarse bajo mi arbolito.
Era de noche, yo no podía ver su dibujito.
Se lamentaba de que una jaula lo hizo prisionero,
Que las plumillas, una por una, se las arrancaron.
Quise curarlo con mi cariño, mas el pajarillo
Guardó silencio como una tumba hasta que amaneció.

Llegan los claros de un bello día, el viento sacudió
Todo el ramaje de mi arbolito y allí se descubrió
Que el pajarillo tenía el alma más herida que yo
Y por las grietas que le sangraban su vida se escapó.
En su garganta dolido trino llora su corazón.
Le abrí mi canto y en mi vihuela lo repitió el bordón.

Ya mejoraba, ya sonreía con mi medicina,
Cuando una tarde llegó una carta de su jaula antigua.
En mi arbolito brotaron flores negras y moradas.
Porque el correo vino a buscarlo, mis ojos lloraban.
Desaparece, me deja en prenda toda su amargura;
Se lleva ufano mi flor más tierna, mi sol y mi luna.

En el momento de su partida, en mi cuello un collar
Dejó olvidado y, como Aladino, yo lo empecé a frotar.
Pasan minutos, pasan las horas y toda una vida,
Por el milagro de aquella joya lo he visto regresar
Con más heridas, con más silencio y con garras largas:
Su buenos días mi piel desgarra con ácida maldad.

Ave que llega sin procedencia y no sabe dónde va,
Es prisionera en su propio vuelo, ave mala será.
Ave maligna, siembra cizaña, bebe, calla y se va,
Cierra tu fuente, cierra tu canto, tira la llave al mar.
Un pajarillo vino llorando, lo quise consolar;
Toqué sus ojos con mi pañuelo: pupila de águila,
Pupila de águila.

Eagle's Pupil

Eagle's pupil

A little bird came to perch under my little tree.
It was night, I couldn't see its little design.
He lamented that a cage had made him prisoner,
That its little feathers had been plucked out one by one.
I wanted to heal him with my love, but the little bird
Kept silent as a tomb until dawn broke.

The light of a beautiful day arrives, the wind shook
All the foliage of my little tree, and there it was discovered
That the little bird's soul was more wounded than mine
And through the cracks that bled his life escaped.
In his throat, a mournful trill weeps his heart out.
I opened my song to him, and on my vihuela the drone repeated it.

He was already getting better, he was already smiling with my medicine,
When one afternoon a letter arrived from his old cage.
Black and purple flowers sprouted on my little tree.
Because the mail came to look for him, my eyes wept.
He disappears, leaving me his bitterness as a token;
He proudly takes my most tender flower, my sun and my moon.

At the moment of his departure, he left a necklace around my neck,
Forgotten, and like Aladdin, I began to rub it.
Minutes pass, hours pass, and a whole lifetime,
By the miracle of that jewel, I have seen him return
More wounded, more silent, and with long claws:
His good morning tears my skin with acid malice.

A bird that arrives without origin and doesn't know where it's going,
It's a prisoner in its own flight, it will be an evil bird.
Wicked bird, sows discord, drinks, shuts up, and leaves,
Close your source, close your song, throw the key into the sea.
A little bird came crying, I wanted to comfort it;
I touched its eyes with my handkerchief: eagle's pupil,
Eagle's pupil.