Me viene, hay días, una gana ubérrima, política,
de querer, de besar al cariño en sus dos rostros,
y me viene de lejos un querer
demostrativo, otro querer amar, de grado o fuerza,
al que me odia, al que rasga su papel, al muchachito,
a la que llora por el que lloraba,
al rey del vino, al esclavo del agua,
al que ocultóse en su ira,
al que suda, al que pasa, al que sacude su persona en mi alma.
Y quiero, por lo tanto, acomodarle
al que me habla, su trenza; sus cabellos, al soldado;
su luz, al grande; su grandeza, al chico.
Quiero planchar directamente
un pañuelo al que no puede llorar
y, cuando estoy triste o me duele la dicha,
remendar a los niños y a los genios.

Quiero ayudar al bueno a ser su poquillo de malo
y me urge estar sentado
a la diestra del zurdo, y responder al mundo,
tratando de serle útil en
lo que puedo, y también quiero muchísimo
lavarle al cojo el pie,
y ayudarle a dormir al tuerto próximo.

¡Ah querer, éste, el mío, éste, el mundial,
interhumano y parroquial, provecto!
Me viene a pelo
desde el cimiento, desde la ingle pública,
y, viniendo de lejos, da ganas de besarle
la bufanda al cantor,
y al que sufre, besarle en su sartén,
al sordo, en su rumor craneano, impávido;
al que me da lo que olvidé en mi seno,
en su Dante, en su Chaplin, en sus hombros.

Quiero, para terminar,
cuando estoy al borde célebre de la violencia
o lleno de pecho el corazón, querría
ayudar a reír al que sonríe,
ponerle un pajarillo al malvado en plena nuca,
cuidar a los enfermos enfadándolos,
comprarle al vendedor,
ayudar a matar al matador - cosa terrible?
y quisiera yo ser bueno conmigo
en todo.

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There are days when I feel an overwhelming, political desire,
to love, to kiss love on both cheeks,
and there comes to me from afar
a desire, demonstrative, another desire to love, by degree or force,
the one who hates me, the one who tears his paper, the little boy,
the one who cries for the one who cried,
to the king of wine, to the slave of water,
the one who hid himself in his anger,
the one who sweats, the one who passes, the one who shakes his person in my soul.
And I want, therefore, to accommodate
to the one who speaks to me, his braid; his hair, to the soldier;
his light, to the great; his greatness, to the small.
I want to press directly
a handkerchief to the one who cannot cry
and, when I am sad or my happiness hurts,
I want to mend the children and the geniuses.

I want to help the good to be his little bit of evil
and it urges me to be seated
at the right hand of the left-handed, and answer to the world,
trying to be useful in what I can, and
what I can, and I also want very much to
to wash the lame man's foot,
and help the one-eyed man to sleep.

Ah to love, this one, mine, this one, the world,
interhuman and parochial, profitable!
It comes to me bareback
from the foundation, from the public groin,
and, coming from afar, it makes you want to kiss
the scarf to the singer,
and to the one who suffers, to kiss him in his frying pan,
to the deaf, in his cranial rumor, undaunted;
to the one who gives me what I forgot in my bosom,
in his Dante, in his Chaplin, in his shoulders.

I want, to finish,
when I'm on the famous brink of violence
or my heart full of chest, I would like
to help the smiling one to laugh,
to put a little bird to the evil one in full nape of the neck,
to take care of the sick by making them angry,
to buy from the seller,
help to kill the slaughterer - terrible thing?
and I would like to be good to me
in everything.

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Translated from Spanish to English by Stephen Cole.
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