As a child I looked at you from the outside,
like those things that you never reach,
the cane against the glass,
in a cold blue,
that was only later s, living,
equal to mine.
Like a school of all things,
already as a boy, you gave me, in amazement,
the cigarette, faith in my dreams
and a hope for love.
How can I forget you in this complaint,
Buenos Aires cafe,
if you are the only thing in life,
that looked like my old woman?
In your miraculous mix,
of wise-cracks and suicides,
I learned philosophy,
dice, gambling and poetry;
Cruel, to not think about me anymore.
You gave me in gold a handful of friends,
who are the same ones who encourage my hours:
José, the one with the chimera;
Marcial, who still believes and hopes
and the skinny Abel who left us
but still guides me.
On your tables that never ask,
I cried one afternoon for the first disappointment,
I was born to sorrow, I drank my years...
and I gave myself © without fighting!

SUBMIT CORRECTIONS