The Cry Of The Nightingale

. “The Cry Of The Nightingale/El Llanto Del Ruiseñor”
CARMEN PARÍS

At the moment when flowers are dancing
the nightingale sings in hidden gardens
Fach of tunes sound like the wind whistling
to those who are seen as foreigners
in their native land
It cries like my ceassless wails and
laments it echoes high and low through
the slopes,
it bemoans all night until sunrising each breath comes out as a burning,
as a burning, burning sigh

On virgin trees
untouched by man's hand
it cries unceasingly
for a life time
tears full of grief but,
can you tell me,
who's there to sympathise with its pains?

A la hora que bailan las flores
canta el ruiseñor en lo escondido
Suena su cantar a dolor vivo
para aquellos que son extranjeros
en su tierra natal
Llora como yo, con amargura,
retumba fuerte y dulce en las laderas,
llora y llora hasta que amanece,
arde su aliento en el aire
avivando mi penar

En lo recóndito del bosque
silba su llanto toda la noche
tanto dolor que me pregunto
si no hay nadie que lo pueda consolar