A Una Bella Durmiente

Where are you going if your name is poverty
and there's no place for you in this life,
if no one knows you were the queen
of a paradise of lilies and wheat?

And they talk about you like you're a beggar
barefoot, sad, alone, and ragged,
who sells herself on nights of partying
her dreams, her soul, and her song.

Oh, the geraniums and the brown sugar
that are on the lips of what I love the most:
a wild horse that keeps on running,
water from the river, a seagull flying in the wind like a ship.

Whoever sees your face up close
like a flame gets caught up in it...
the wind will come,
it will bring life and memory
and will conquer the silence.

Because you, my queen, are just asleep
in the hope of a kiss of love.