Song of the Comrades
I come from days that must be silenced; I come from
nights I want to forget; shivering, I walked in the fever of the big
cities, I saw the big clocks of churches in alliance with the devil,
I saw poor people who walked softly in the streets, like Christ
on water, popular uprisings graced me with royal afternoons, but
at night, I was in fear in front of the deserted garden.
He, who opened a door to sleep, didn’t see the stars
that annulled futility, those who buried their dead didn’t know
the meaning of memory.
humble people who woke up with a piece of hay in their hair
as if they were glorified somewhere else
and I walked along the public road whistling — oh, old song of
the comrades.
Libros Libertad 