Naquela Mesa

At that table, he always sat
And he always told me, what it means to live better,
At that table, he shared stories
That today in my memory I keep and know by heart.
At that table, he gathered people and happily shared
What he did in the morning.
And in his eyes, there was so much shine
That more than being his son, I became his fan.

I didn’t know it hurt this much
A table in the corner, a house, and a garden.
If I had known how much life hurts
This painful ache wouldn’t hurt like this.
Now there’s just a table in the living room
And today no one talks about his mandolin anymore.
At that table, he’s missing, and his absence
Is hurting me.