By: Rico Malvaez
One night of melancholy song, breeze accompanied,
Drew on the waves of a known silhouette shadow
How this song whimsical moved between waves,
How to draw that shadow, that shadow known.
A swing in a song that told me:
“Where it will go after tomorrow, without shelter,
No fatigue, no hunger and no destination. ”
What a night so quiet, what a night so intense
What a night so quiet, what a night so immersed.
What song rocks deep beneath the waves,
Singing very slowly with very calm wind
Mention my name and now I have to sing here:
“Go to heaven with my old dream.
I called one day telling you “I love you”.
But I never thought that was just a dream,
Help me to wake up, I no longer mourn
For those beautiful memories, and I wake up.
This letter I write is only one more card
I dedicate to you. With my soul… without regret.
(The Little Wooden house)
Upon awakening, a cold winter morning
Next to my bed, a wooden house
With red curtains and windows, with honey coloured panels
And smooth walls with small prints faint wave lines
A little door was not moving, never opened
and by the fireplace a slot for depositing money.
A money box that my Dad had made at Christmas,
Where I started depositing coins, small gifts and dreams.
Among those coins and curiosities of children,
my first car ambulance and my inseparable toy “Anaximandro”
In the afternoon it looked as if he was out there,
And inviting me to know his world, to meet inside
I was smaller to walk through that little door, which never moved,
Never opened and go with it, the wooden house.
I peered through the windows of red curtains whilst playing with Anaximandro
He saw me sitting in an armchair, also of wood, also red.
In both coming and going every evening.
That wooden house was deteriorating and spending over time
Dad stop to show up for the small door, which never moved, never opened,
And stopped to follow my games, stopped to follow my dreams.
The windows began to change colour, the curtains were no longer red and looked gray.
The panels were without their honey colour,
Those smooth walls with small prints, faint wave lines were full of holes,
The fire that broke off and the doors
never moved… never opened.
Eventually I left the house forgetting until I said goodbye to her,
One morning the little house was taken into a bag with forgotten items,
My car ambulance and Anaximandro, my inseparable friends,
They moved in to a shoebox where I see them from time to time,
Now I’m back to dream the house, I see peeking inside.
For these windows with red curtains, just watch me,
No longer invites me to play in it.
Because that little wood door never moved, never opened,
It has been closed. I will not go back on it,
Because the key… He took it.
It was December when I hugged you, and you in a blue suit.
It was not easy to say I love you,
But was to say, I miss you,
What causes me more pain? What you said?
Or did not hear more?
What was that winter, what date so cold, that empty life.
At the sound of twelve o’clock, between alleged laughter and cheers, laughter and wishes
The happiest of all, but… never approached us, we never confess.
What do you want most in this life? not gifts.
They are no claps once we figured,
When including books, signatures, drinks, when we
And… do you remember what you swore?
On that night, that of your blue suit, when we exchanged ties,
I just want to be you for a moment, almost, maybe, maybe it was.
Not to use that James Dean stamped on the tie,
Let me be as you were, you know…? I still have James with me.
What a pain, get such a long journey and find you in a meeting
Where was the chance to be with you and found you just in a portrait
And so were serious again, like that last time, we do not talk,
As we looked and no longer hug, but politely, so we leave.
Some waves, in a night of dark storm, a small wooden house,
A song of silence I found my way with a bottle,
That highlights the drink and drink, found only in sobs echo
From a paper cup, which made me and made me regret whisper,
The time for stupid and proud arrogance, succumbed
Before a final, loneliness, sad reality, and without you… Dad.
What black night enveloped me what quiet solitude,
In even more dark memories, vague memories, cold memories
In my 41 years, I’m the same boy who you left 36 years ago
Quietly, without light, with questions…
No answers, no advice… with fears.
I see you now silent and with the same blue suit and… serene.
Like that photo of your youth, like that occasion,
And… the tie… now I bring with me, beside me, on my chest,
Like that photo that we took that Christmas night.
You closed your eyes and you’re asleep
Next to the memory of my own destiny, my own destiny…
I have also closed mine and I see you quiet,
Gallant and serene, gallant friend.
Longed dawn, has been slow to arrive
Snatching a star at night,
Over the sky of this great Tenochtitlan.
In the navel of the moon, you rest calm
Who asked you to leave us, who will tear my dreams?
Night cold, cold dawn, cold sleep and cold waking,
Father Arturo, you’ve fallen asleep and have come to Mixtlan.
Now I have a party of gray colours,
They peer through my temples and a sip of wine in hand,
I get up to you, for your life and your happy farewell,
Toast for your being
Rest in peace Dad, People like you do not die…
We just stop to watch them.