The guateque

Come here, my Rufina, 

Garment of my heart, 

There's fun to be had tonight, 

Joy and merriment. 

Cease the melancholy, 

That this is a night to enjoy, 

Please be completed with regrets,

Let there be no displeasure or sorrow, 

That already the little bell is ringing

And he invites us to dance.

People with a good idea

This is where it is headed, 

Because the dance dominates it,

And you want to have fun.

My heart is recreated

Seeing so much animation,

And I feel such emotion,

On this gallant night,

That I bless this Cuban

And country fun. 

Don't you hear about the little typlette

That tiqui-tiqui-tun, 

The uproar and the run-run

What is the cheerful shape of the corrillo?

Here sings a guajirillo,

Beyond dances an Indian woman, 

Here an old man and an old woman

They laugh their heads off, 

And all is joy and pleasure 

In this Cuban party.

Doesn't your sense of smell

In the midst of so much eagerness,

Of the piglet that is roasting 

The tasty and pleasant smell.....

Soon, my good, in a little while from now.

Before the dance is over,

You will see how good it tastes 

Of that suckling pig, a bite,

With a roasted banana 

and a piece of cassava.

The table will be a barrel, 

The source will be a yagua,

And some yamagua leaves

They will serve as a tablecloth. 

There in a confused crowd

We will all be arriving,

And among the many nicknames 

That the guajiros are given,

To their girlfriends they will toast

Touching elbows to elbows.

When you are dancing 

On that ground you look at,

The guajiras will envy 

The looseness of your feet.

They will mimic more than three

Your waist game,

They will bless your beauty

With decompassionate voices,

And between bravos and clapping

You will show off your pure forehead.

Amidst the confused hubbub

From the fun people,

They will sweetly flatter you

Of music the murmur.

It will be my greatest pride

Breathing next to you,

And in all of them you will see there

From the contentment of the currency,

If you show a smile

On your ruby lips.

Me too, to the sound of the tiple

I will sing to you without pretext

The tenths I have composed,

For you, my sweet good.

In your fresh and pure temple,

I will put a cuban flower

I will admire your candor, 

Your divine red lips,

And I'll embrace myself in your eyes

And I will light up in your love. 

I swear to tell you about those

Hours of sweet calm,

In which under a palm tree

We counted the stars. 

Hours in which my quarrels

They lulled your ears,

Sweet moments lost 

That I remember endlessly,

When I managed to fascinate

Of sweet love your senses. 

I'll tell you about those days

Where you are in love 

In the shade of bamboo

Your contentment you blessed.

Hours in which you repeated

Next to me your oath,

In which you heard the sweet accent

Of the melodious mockingbird,

And there on the top of the mountain

The dull murmur of the wind.

Come, you charming Indian, 

It is time to start,

And this party will last

Until the dawn breaks.

Come and dance from now on

Until it is morning,

And at the end of the party

We will say both together: 

Long live this land of God!

Long live this Cuban party!