Por Guillermo Gardel
Maybe it creeps with music
by a crack in my ear.
Maybe in a kind gesture
have my skin known.
You will ask “what”; and I will say nothing.
You will ask “who”; and I will say no one.
You will ask “when; and I will say never.
But it will be everything, for someone, forever …
And you’ll have to love me like this: gray,
like the heart that returns from the war
and he has seen so much death on
that is sweating ash in its path.
And it will not be because you are little,
nor do I want to go back to the fire.
It will be because we are all
waste, memory, embers …
If I see it in you, I will look down,
and when my soul rises
and call her from her house to take refuge,
You will run into the most closed night.
Let me then be alone.
Let my storm pass
inside my dark skin,
in the light of my shadow and my demons …
And only on the back of the verses
or in some dream adrift,
I will see the knives float
poking their thorns.
The hermetic wound that, sometimes,
gives a thud in my head,
will fall as if ripe fruit,
like a very heavy pain,
that suspended in life holds
bursting fleetingly into the past.
I’ll pretend that she has never existed,
how will you pretend the same?
And the swaying of the afternoon heartbeat
You will match yours with mine.
And will our love walk slowly
with an aged impulse.
And we will see run by our side
the emergence of a newborn love.
And that love dawned
of adolescent power
will make us, suddenly,
and understand where we are from,
remembering what we were,
and that even while walking
we will be where we came from.