我出发，我耗费了整个三月，从未知道
它可以带我去哪里。我充满了恐惧地走着，
我的胃发出暗示，我的头嗡嗡响：
我认为这是死人冰冷的阴风。
我不懂。我出发了，我想那是一个羞耻
离开的这么匆忙，但与此同时
我听见神秘而有说服力的呼唤。
你要么听见要么听不见，但我听见了
几乎是爆发性的哭喊：一个糟糕的声音。
诞生于空中或海上。
一把剑和一面盾牌。之后，
尽管恐惧，我还是出发了，我把自己的面颊
贴到死神的面颊上。闭上眼睛，错过看见
那陌生的奇观，缓慢而诡异，是不可能的
虽然定影于这一闪而过的现实里：
数千名像我一样的家伙，长着稚气的脸
或者胡须，但我们都是拉丁美洲人，
轻抚死神的面颊。
I set off, I took up the march and never knew
where it might take me. I went full of fear,
my stomach dropped, my head was buzzing:
I think it was the icy wind of the dead.
I don't know. I set off, I thought it was a shame
to leave so soon, but at the same time
I heard that mysterious and convincing call.
You either listen or you don't, and I listened
and almost burst out crying: a terrible sound,
born on the air and in the sea.
A sword and shield. And then,
despite the fear, I set off, I put my cheek
against death's cheek.
And it was impossible to close my eyes and miss seeing
that strange spectacle, slow and strange,
though fixed in such a swift reality:
thousands of guys like me, baby-faced
or bearded, but Latin American, all of us,
brushing cheeks with death.
