Arrabal

Porteño suburbs
of pink houses
where the dreams are cradled
by the strumming of guitars.

Where the fig tree appears
over the walls,
adorning the walls
with its ghosts.

Shadow,
blue curtain of the suburb
where the disturbance is played
when a love is poisoned
and to the pain of betrayal,
resentment is made,
resentment and sorrow.

Shadow,
where lips are sworn
while the night whispers
with its bandoneon voice.

Porteño suburbs,
in your open courtyards
the stars peek
and bathe you in silence.

And the yellow moon
sows mysteries
tiptoeing
on your roofs.