Song to Europe (Free author's translation)

First of all, forgive me, you English native speakers, for I'm not translater and English is not my mother tongue.

Song to Europe

The children of Europe
sing the song
of the new Babel,
the continent
which during centuries of night
our grandfathers dreamed.
So many times, Europe,
so many times
over your green fields
they bled!

Europe, Europe!
Do you hear my crying
that your name heaves
as if it was the lamp
that Jesus himself wanted
his pupils hove?
A lamp which is nothing else
than the word hope.

Europe,
light-tower of this cruel world.
Don’t discriminate between
the christian and the muslim,
the white and the black,
nor the mind and the skin.
Your children are those
who your light have accepted.

Europe,
you are the mother
of everything that in the West
deserves to be loved.

To you I sing, Europe
mother of my thinking,
more mother of mine
than the one who gave me my body,
then, what would have been of my soul
if I had not had you
as nourishment?

Sea of languages,
of nations web,
Babilon of men
Alexandry of books,
net of nets,
weaved by people
who nations exiled
to the deserved forgetfulness.
I hear you trembling,
mother.
I hear you breathing,
mother
Listen to me,
mother.
Let me sing you,
mother.
Because you are mi homeland
Europe,
the young nation
of those who in nations
just simply
do not believe anymore.

I want to caress you,
Europe,
once a young kidnapped lady,
now a woman of fertile breast.
I want to kiss you and love you,
fecundate this land
with the words
you have given to me.
Words that in Galician
have breasted me,
in Catalan
have educated me,
in Spanish
have fecundated me,
in Basque
have kissed me,
in English
have sung me,
in German
have surprised me,
in French
have inspired me,
in Welsh
have loved me,
in Greek
have bewitched me,
in Latin
have ilustrated me.
Words that for your cause
have recruited me.

You keep in your breast
a strength that reposes
and a fortress
that no enemy
will never defeat:
that of the captive Greece
that warfare Romes
will always captivate.
The day when you conquered be
and your walls will tumble down,
your seeds will be cultivated
where the suffering
with words will be fought,
where against the death
men will be vacuumed
with the antidote of words

When,
oh, when and when,
your children of colours,
neglected the flags,
silent the canyons,
forgotten the nations,
born and ilustrated
will make our voice be heard,
Europe,
united our languages
to sing a song
that gives hope
to these world,
who expects your birth
with emotion?

Your children need you,
Europe.
Your youth do use you,
Europe,
as a peace weapon,
to challenge at least
the true axis of evil,
which only is
a black scythe
of black coagulated death,
sharped with the poverty
of the non-cultivated mind,
in front of which
your children do have
nothing to fear of,
though blind be
who does not want to see
that the moment has comen
to read us again.

Europe, Europe,
be the woman of fertile womb
from which the entire humanity
would feed and nourish
of that precious food
that the sterile world
has not yet cultivated:
the illustrated love,
the humble wisdom,
the quiet patriotism,
the soft power,
the free knowledge,
the imperfect democracy,
the emancipated intelligence,
the sealed alliance
of the nations of Europe,
that finally have got tired
of self- killing.

Europe, Europe,
become one day
what our fathers
began to see:
a dream not yet fulfilled
in which the devil of human being
has been finally defeated.

Europe, Europe,
give us something to believe in!

Europe, Europe,
dare yourself to birth!