ANDURIÑA, por Ramon Lainho

1. ANDURIÑA. 2. SWALLOW.

Inqueda anduriña que, volves á túa casa en cada primavera.

Retornas viaxeira, dunha terra de cálidas areas.

Nunha tarde apaçible e de contento, dun día soleado,

vinche pasar toda atarefada, de aquí para alá.

Mais, non viñas soa. Na túa pereghrinaxe, traías moitas compañeiras.

Corría unha cálida brisa que daba ghloria.

E no ceo, perçibíase aquela sensaçión infinita de cariño e, harmonía.

Sobre as ponlas das árbores, o vento durmía,

un soño de profundas esperanças.

Contémploche na estaçión colorida, de tempo contado,

voando sen descanso e, polo aire pasas chiando.

A onde queira que vaias, sempre buscas algho que encontrar.

Envolta no teu corpiño pequeno,

debuxas áxiles e anxelicais movementos,

coas túas aliñas curvadas, de cola ghallada.

Levas no bico, barro mollado para arranchar a túa casiña.

Tamén, palliñas secas coas que preparar o niño.

Era ese mesmo que na túa memoria, deixaras o ano pasado.
 

Ai! Acaso quedastes sen abrigho?

Por sorte, a fortuna axudouche!

Velaí está. Sighue en pé!

Voas e revoas ao seu arredor, cun ansioso aleteo.

Pero aquelas noviñas e inexpertas, terán que construír da nada o seu acomodo.

A época das flores, façerá despertar o instinto maternal.

Xa che imaxino chocando os oviños, no teu adorado refuxio.

Pasarán os días e as semanas e, como por arte de maxia,

xurdirán novos rechouchíos.

Unha inesperada responsabilidade cheghará, cos paxariños sen plumar.

E, xa como pais, teredes que coidar das vosas crías.

Cando penso que ao final te irás de novo,

unha pena me invade.

Mais, ao verche outra ves,

embárghame un consolo.

Ah! Quen fora tan libre coma ti, doçe e fermosa criatura!

A onde irás, anduriña? Anduriña, a onde irás?

    

SWALLOW

Restless swallow, you return to your house every spring.

Traveler who returns, from a land of warm sands.

On a peaceful and happy afternoon, on a sunny day,

I saw you go through all busy, from here to there.

But, you did not come alone. In your pilgrimage, you brought many companions.

There was a warm breeze that gave glory.

And in the sky, there was that infinite feeling of affection and harmony.

On the branches of the trees, the wind slept,

a dream of deeps hopes.

I contemplate you in the colorful season, of time counted,

flying without rest and, in the air, you cross screeching.

Wherever you go, you're always looking for something to find.

Wrapped in your little body,

you draw agile and angelic movements,

with your little curved wings, with a split tail.

You carry in your beak, wet mud to fix your little house.

Also, dry straws with which to prepare the nest.

It was the same that in your memory, you left last year.

Ai! Maybe you were left without refuge?

Luckily, fortune helped you!

There it is. Still stands!

You fly and fly around with an anxious wingbeat.

But those who are young and inexperienced will have to build their homes from nothing.

The time of the flowers will awaken the maternal instinct.

I can imagine you brooding the small eggs in the adored refuge.

The days and weeks will pass and, as if by magic, 

new trills will emerge.

A unexpected responsibility will come, with the little birds without feathers. 

And now, as parents, you will have to take care of your little ones.

When I think that in the end you will leave again,

a pity invades me.

But, seeing you again,

 

I feel a solace.

Ah! If only I could be as free as you, sweet and beautiful creature!

Where will you go, swallow? Swallow, where will you go?