🎵/ Hive open mic/ Week 81🎵The Kite/🎵El Papalote/ 🎵Silvio Rodríguez/🎵 Cover by @gilliatt 🎵
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About :
Greetings inhabitants of this vast and beautiful multiverse called #hive, especially to the #openmic community, for week 81, of Romance and nostalgia, I brought you a song by Cuban singer-songwriter Silvio Rodríguez; "El Papalote", this theme personally takes me back to my childhood, to a character that is present in almost every child who made, bought, or was made of a kite, or parrot in my case, that artisan from each town who made and sold parrots and artisan toys.
It also reminds me of having enjoyed a live concert by maestro Silvio Rodríguez in the Caracas polyhedron, where he surprised us with this song, which now when interpreting it I was invaded by nostalgia, which is the theme of this week 81 of # openmic.
I hope you enjoy this as much as I do.
Fuente y biografía
Silvio Rodríguez.
The Kite.
Made of ruins and mysteries
Because you broke the rock
To earn you a couple of media.
The most famous of the hill
With the best fork
From the guava and hard gums.
That my memory gets steeper at times Like your kites
The invincible ones
The cheapest.
Narciso «El Mocho», to put you
Along with the chosen ones
Those who do not fit in death.
The kite, falls, falls, falls, falls, falls
The imagination is going to bolina
Good blade stung him.
A colonel came out shining
What a perfect bird
How many colors
What a beautiful song.
I was going to fly it, you already knew It was an expensive commission
The one who commanded
The one who had.
That money of sadness
Brandy money From the sun of Cuba
From the beer.
To celebrate, dirty and crazy
For you, «Carta Oro»
And candy for us.
The kite, falls, falls, falls, falls, falls
The imagination is going to bolina
Good blade stung him.
You came up drunk
You answered stones
And curse your boys.
From the bustle of your town
You were for grace
You were an old man
You were black.
Came down and put you a beautiful crown on you
Respect of mortals
That dead at last
Made you a person.
Poor of all those people
That the most important day Of your existence
It was your death.
The kite, falls, falls, falls, falls, falls
The imagination is going to bolina
Good blade stung him.
Español.
Saludos habitantes de este vasto y hermoso multiverso llamado #hive, especialmente a la comunidad de #openmic, para la semana 81, de Romance y nostalgia, les traje un tema del cantautor Cubano Silvio Rodríguez; "El Papalote", este tema en lo personal me traslada a mi infancia, a un personaje que está presente en casi todo niño que elaboró, compro, o se hizo de algún Papalote, o papagallo en mi caso, ese artesano de cada pueblo que elaboraba y vendía los papagallos y juguetes artesanales.
También me trae a mi memoria el haber disfrutado de un concierto en vivo del maestro Silvio Rodríguez en el poliedro de Caracas, donde nos sorprendió con este tema, que ahora al interpretarlo me invadió la nostalgia, que es el tema de esta semana 82 del #openmic.
Espero que lo disfruten tanto como yo.
Fuente y biografía
Silvio Rodríguez.
El Papalote
Hecha de ruinas y de misterios
Porque rompías la roca
Para ganarte un par de medios.
Los más famosos de la loma
Con la mejor horqueta
De la guayaba y duras gomas.
Que mi memoria se empina a ratos
Como tus papalotes
Los invencibles, los más baratos.
Narciso «El Mocho», para ponerte
Junto a los elegidos
Los que no caben en la muerte.
El papalote, cae, cae, cae, cae, cae
Se va a bolina la imaginación
Buena cuchilla lo picó.
Un coronel salió brillando
Que pájaro perfecto
Cuantos colores, que lindo canto.
Iba a volarlo, ya se sabía
Era un encargo caro
Del que mandaba, del que tenía.
Aquel dinero de la tristeza
Dinero de aguardiente
Del sol de Cuba, de la cerveza.
A celebrarlo, sucios y locos
Para tí, «Carta Oro»
Y caramelos para nosotros.
El papalote, cae, cae, cae, cae, cae
Se va a bolina la imaginación
Buena cuchilla lo picó.
Cuando en la tarde
Subías borracho
Tu contestabas piedras
Y maldiciónes a tus muchachos.
De los trajines de tu pueblo
Eras para la gracia
Eras un viejo, eras negro.
Bajó y te puso bella corona
Respeto de mortales
Que muerto al fin te hizo persona.
Pobre de toda aquella gente
Que el día más importante
De tu existencia
Fue el de muerte.
El papalote, cae, cae, cae, cae, cae
Se va a bolina la imaginación
Buena cuchilla lo picó.
Gracias por visitar mi blog.
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