Nostalgia
Ora mi mira bientu lant'e
blachinan hel y maron foi suela
pone nan lora di repiente
purá purá riba kayanan
y bientu friu penetra
den mi paña pasa riba mi kueru
pa pone mi kurpa tembla
Mi ta realisa atrobe
ku aña pasá m'a mira
mesun poder di bientu
riba blachinan ku ta tumba
un tras di otro morto for di palu
Mi a realisa n'e mes momentu
ku un aña largu mi no a sinti
bientu di laman karisia mi
e solo kayente ku mi stima
no por a baster sodó foi mi porionan
Mi ta realisa ku otro aña
atrobe lo mi sinti bientu friu
y mira blachi morto y maron
lo mi sinti nostalgia i tristesa
y lo mi puntra me mes dikon.
Nostalgy
When I see the breeze blow
the yellow and brown leaves off the ground
suddenly curling up
hurrying on the streets
and the cold breeze penetrates
through the clothes on my skin
making my body tremble
Once more I realize
that last year I saw
this same power of the breeze
on dry leaves falling from trees
one after the other
At the same time I realized
that for a whole year I didn't feel
the tenderness of sea breeze
the hot sun I love
bursting out sweat from my pores
It dawned on me that next year
again I will feel the cold breeze
and observe dead brown leaves
feeling nostalgy and sadness
I'll ask myself why.
(In Memoriam Enrique Muller (1944-2015)
Enrique Muller, Libra. Amsterdam: [s.n.] 1973 p. 8.
