sunset from behind the wire

sunset from behind the wire

Tuesday, September 16, 2014

Bury me in the Mountains

Songs evoke memories. This one is special to me because a very good friend of mine, who died in the "War on Terror" (that the present regime refers to as a "Foreign Contingency") loved it. No, he wasn't Mexican. He worked for an intelligence agency and spent time in Mexico -- and loved the place like no other. Therefore when I hear the song, I think of friendship, of struggle against a viscous Islamic enemy, and of him, and tough situations overcome. He has a star, now among many stars in the lobby of a building on the south bank of the Potomac.

A group of us held a wake for him and with a few mariachis, we sang this song for him in his favorite restaurant in Mexico City at the conclusion of the gathering. Yes, it was sung by men in their cups, slightly out of tune. But it was to honor a dear friend. I hope that his spirit was not damaged by our shoddy - but heartfelt - rendition.


Mexico lindo y querido (in English)

The voice of my guitar
wants to sing its joy
to my mexican (home)land
when the morning wakes up

I sing to its volcanoes,
its meadows and its flowers
which are like talismans
of the love amongst my loves

My beautiful and beloved Mexico
should I die far from you
let them say I'm asleep
and bring me back to you

Let them say I'm asleep
and bring me back to you
my beautiful and beloved Mexico
should I die far from you

Let them bury me in the mountains
at the foot of the magueyales
and let this soil cover me,
this soil which is a cradle for upright men

The voice of my guitar
wants to sing its joy
to my mexican (home)land
when the morning wakes up

My beautiful and beloved Mexico
should I die far from you
let them say I'm asleep
and bring me back to you

Let them say I'm asleep
and bring me back to you
my beautiful and beloved Mexico
should I die far from you.


3 comments:

  1. To remember past friends - an occasional blink and a sharp pain. Not to dwell on things that can not be undone.

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