Frost
(poetry by Romildo Risso, music by Santiago Chalar)
Life deceived you, you say; Pitiful excuses. Who told you August* was summer? You believed in a little heat out of season, And you alone deceived yourself.
Life didn't lie. We all know it has no fixedness, no constancy. Sometimes the creeks dry out, Sometimes, the fields flood with water.
You had your illusions, The exact same thing that happens to everyone; And just like the way your sprouts are right now, Their hearts end up like they are made of rags.
How many out there like you! All self-affliction, All cursing fate and disgrace, And instead of toughening up in the face of punishment, You get so scared that your blood curdles.
Don't blame life, my friend; Life knows not of intention. Cure your ignorance, your laziness, And you'll make good out of even a beating.
Little loss the blossoms you have lost, When Spring is around the corner, And for what you might have suffered, Pretend this winter has just lasted a little longer.
You will go on recovering slowly, And what mankind cannot do, Must be achieved though new leafing; Hearts are not made anew.
But beware! Don't get too excited; When you feel that a warmth fills you, On any November* day a frost might burn you.
And to survive that one... To survive that one, I cannot tell you the power that is needed. If you feel it in your roots, Let whatever God sends come.
Get deep into your roots, grab with them tight, 'Cause there is where your strength lies, And not in the branches. But live warned, That hail is in the skies, and the white clouds.
When you expect the hit, It hurts less than if it finds you with the flesh relaxed. And unless you pretend to be privileged, You will have to suffer, the hail, and the frost.
Have memory, That life teaches, And have endurance, That suffering doesn't kill.
*The poem is set in the Southern Hemisphere; think August=February, November=May.
