English translation of Mis Flores Negras by Julio Jaramillo. What does Mis Flores Negras mean in english
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Mis Flores Negras and many other song lyrics of Julio Jaramillo translated into english can be found in Translate Lyrics! What does Mis Flores Negras mean in english?
Besides the lyric of the song Mis Flores Negras in english, you will also find Mis Flores Negras translated into Portuguese, French, German or other languages.
Besides the lyric of the song Mis Flores Negras in english, you will also find Mis Flores Negras translated into Portuguese, French, German or other languages.
Mis Flores Negras by Julio Jaramillo (original lyric)
Oye, bajo las ruinas de mis pasiones,
en el fondo de esta alma que ya no alegras,
entre polvo de ensueños y de ilusiones,
crecen entumecidas mis flores negras.
Ellas son mis dolores capullos hechos
con intensos dolores que en mis entrañas,
sepultan sus raíces, cual los helechos
en las húmedas grietas de las montañas.
Ellas son tus desdenes y tus rigores,
ellas son tus perfidias y tus desvíos
son tus besos vibrantes y abrazadores
en pétalos ornados, negros y fríos.
Ellas son los recuerdos de aquellas horas
en que, presa en mis brazos, te adormecías
mientras yo suspiraba por las auroras
de tus ojos, auroras que no eran mías.
Ellas son mis gemidos y mis reproches
ocultos en esta alma que ya no alegras,
son por eso tan negras como las noches
en los gélidos polos, mis flores negras.
Guarda pues este triste débil manojo
que te ofrezco de aquellas flores sombrías;
guárdalo, nada temas: es un despojo
del jardín de mis hondas melancolías.
Mis Flores Negras by Julio Jaramillo (english translation)
Hey, under the ruins of my passions,
in the depths of this soul you no longer rejoice,
between dust of dreams and illusions,
My black flowers grow numb.
They are my pain buds made
with intense pains that in my bowels,
they entomb their roots, like the ferns
in the damp cracks of the mountains.
They are your disdain and your rigors,
they are your perfidies and your detours
are your kisses vibrant and hugging
in ornate, black and cold petals.
They are the memories of those hours
in which, imprisoned in my arms, you doze off
while I longed for the auroras
of your eyes, auroras that were not mine.
They are my moans and my reproaches
hidden in this soul that you no longer rejoice,
they are therefore as black as the nights
in the icy poles, my black flowers.
Save then this sad weak bunch
that I offer you of those dark flowers;
keep it, do not fear: it is a spoil
from the garden of my deep melancholy.
Only among all we can make this a better place :)
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