Here I am.
Still before my eyes.
Incapable of moving.
Paralized before the unknown
Of my question,
Of my inability of responding
Overwhelmed before the steril panorama
Disqualified by my anguish...
Because...
I search to grasp onto a scafold,
A portal, a design
That can draw the face of my profile
Of my essence, of my "Me",
Before the brutal reality
Of what I have done
Built, fed
And exposed before myself.

I, citizen of the country of forgetfulness
Of denial, of neglect!

Father! My Father! Father of my Country!
Innocent Angel! Transparent steed!
Silver sword!
Multiple hero! Father!
Perhaps you have closed your eyes
So that, you can no longer see?
Yes!
That is possible, feasible, inevitable
that your glance has turned
Toward silence
So that you may rest, at last!
From blasphemy, from forgetfuness
Ingratitud born
From your own soil
From your uncertain fight!

Because we have blasphemed
And buried alive
From far away
So as to not see you! And in this way lose you
Inside the dark faces
Of exile!

I, miserable, small, nonexistent
I ask you, I implore
That once more
You elevate your profile from space
And you consent once again
To forgive, from us
Our Fault!

San Martín! Father of our motherland
Unharmed! Glorious martyr!
Help us elevate
From the remains of our horrendous works,
The magnitude
Our YOUR PARDON
That it may illuminate
OUR RETURN
Toward your door!