El penitente

My mother hides in her closet
a sewn mask and a merino cape.
- Oh my God, is it for me?
Will my father leave me already?
He dresses since he was a kid
and tells me that the boys from before
made wax paths,
and endured like men
next to their Macarena.

Oh my God, is it for me?
I would like to cross tonight
counting the stars,
by that Guadalquivir
and splatter myself with wax,
and burn the whole candle
throughout all of Seville.

At nightfall she calls him:
- Get dressed slowly, as you dreamed,
for you are already grown up.
Let your mother iron your cape
radiant as the sun.

And the moon shone on the bridge
and that penitent crossed the river.
The early morning calls him.

And he left for Seville
with half a fulfilled dream.
Macarena, where are you?
Come on, brother, give me a candle,
I have to light it up.

Come in and sit in my room.
At my bedside, look at what Hope,
let's talk the two of us.
I was born in Seville,
your mother in Triana.
The things of love.

Every year the story repeated:
I left my girlfriend at nightfall.
They call me the little Macarena.

And he left the line
with half a lit candle:
Mother, I can't take it anymore.
How do I get home
with the candle unburned?

Mother, don't give me sandals.
He lit his candle
without talking to anyone
he left San Gil.
Our Father to Christ
and Hail Mary to the Virgin,
Seville is happy.

He walked through Feria street,
Alameda, Campana,
Sierpes, Cathedral.
He passed by Cuna street.

And he left the line
with half a lit candle,
Mother, I can't take it anymore.
Thank goodness that through Triana
I have my face covered.

At dawn he spoke to him.
Lift your face,
you don't know me,
maybe by my voice.
Look at the thread
you have on your cape
to recognize you.

I still remember that boy
who, being a kid,
endured so little.
Come on, go back home.

And he returned to the line
with half a lit candle.
Mother, I have to keep going.
And burning his hands,
I saw him through San Gil.