I
Night fell early.
The wind blew from afar and smelled of rain
and war.
The speeding trains passed by filled with soldiers
we managed to discern through the windows,
huge metal helmets choked the horizon;
The asphalt gleamed after the rain. Women silently
dressed dry lima beans behind the windows
and the footsteps of the patrol took away
the silence of the street and the warmth of the world.
Come, look at me so I’ll see the sky in your eyes;
give me your hands so I can get a hold of my life.
How pale you are, my beloved!
I thought our doorbell rang in the night. Your mother
went to open dragging her wooden sandals.
Nobody. Nobody she repeated. It must have been the wind.
We cuddled close to each other because we knew
my beloved, it wasn’t the wind.
Thousands of people died outside our door.
My beloved, look at how they’ve destroyed our neighborhood.
Wind goes through the cracks of the houses
the walls get soaked, swell, tumble.
Where have our neighbors gone without saying goodbye
with their half whitewashed terraces,
their half-finished smile?
As one turns around the corner we never see him again.
Before we’d say good morning, suddenly evening came.
Then where have all the children gone?
Libros Libertad 