Farol

A neighborhood with houses
that reflect their tin pain...
A human neighborhood
with legends sung like tangos...
And there a clock far away strikes
two in the morning...
A working-class neighborhood,
a corner of memories and a lantern...

Lantern,
the things that are seen now...
Lantern, it’s not the same as yesterday...
The shadow,
today slips from your gaze,
and leaves me feeling sadder
half of my heart cut off.
Your light,
with tango in my pocket
lost its shine and glow
and it’s a burden...

There the sky converses
with the dreams of a million workers...
There the wind whispers
the popular poems of Carriego,
and when far away it strikes
two in the morning,
the neighborhood seems
to fall asleep repeating to the lantern...