El Héroe
Abel Velazquez
The Hero
She is my light, my peace, my voice
My monosyllabic and complex faith
That plays at being and not wanting
While resting in storm clouds.
But she never wants to talk about love
Because it reminds her of her tragedy
And fears that in some depression
My lips will reach her pain.
She believed that the heart
Was connected to the head
And that upon reaching the end of the sea
A hero would save her spring.
Carrying her in his arms to sleep
To a bed among the dry leaves
Saying 'I'm dying for you'
Rest while I make you happy.
And I try to be
The hero she expects
When she descends the stairs
With dreams soaked in coffee.
A hero of silences
And grand promises
Who spreads out old canvases
So that she, with her kisses
Draws new moons.
And I try to be and I am not
How do I explain to her that in the world
There are no more heroes
Just guys like me
Like me
