Tinta roja
Cátulo Castillo
Red Ink
Wall,
red ink in the gray
of yesterday...
Your emotion
of happy brick
on my alley
with a blot
painted the corner...
And the button
that in the width of the night
put the edge of the patrol
like a brooch...
And that carmine mailbox,
and that bar
where the Italian cried
his blonde distant love
that he wet with good wine.
Where will my suburb be?
Who stole my childhood?
In what corner, my moon,
do you pour like back then
your clear joy?
Sidewalks that I stepped on,
thugs that are no longer,
under your satin sky
a piece of my heart
stays up all night.
Wall,
red ink in the gray
of yesterday...
Gush
of my unhappy blood
that I spilled on the geranium
of that balcony
that hid it...
I don't know
if it was black from my sorrows
or it was red from your veins
my sangria...
Why did it come and go
after the carmine
and the gray,
distant bar
where an Italian cried
his longings for good wine.
