No Quiero Otro

The stubborn one is leaving now
heart that was given to me.
Said 'Bye...' and my arteries
filled with handkerchiefs.
Time whistles a brief cry
for my detached blood.
I prepare for the simple
limit of things.
He's leaving because it's his time,
he's leaving. I don't want another one.

It was inaugurated long ago
and in a courtyard with geraniums
he unraveled the doves
to hear deep messages.
He kept from those days
the wide, left-handed, and sad being,
and his most rebellious
part forever uprising.
He lasted as long as
he had to. I don't want another one.

With his electrocardiogram
resembling that of tangos,
he had mysterious struggles
he never spoke to me about.
Heart that in the darkness
that I sometimes have inside,
unfolded an infinite
bitter rooster of fight.
He was the only possible
for me. I don't want another one.

But how he loved you,
how much he loved you.
With what fervor he defended
his joys for you.
In the end, not to forget you,
he tied knots in his veins,
and, upon leaving, licked your shadow
his loyal, cast sadness.
Ah, my old heart
of brave love. I don't want another one.

I forgot about him from time to time,
but in the end I understood
that I have only lived
every time I listened to him.
I end up on bad terms with God and the Devil;
but in the end, he stays;
but he stays, I believe,
hand in hand with life.
He was the only possible
for him. I don't want another one.

Cover him with three shovelfuls
of earth, in a corner,
he wanted to dedicate himself,
completely, to being asphalt.
Let him become a floor,
let him rot with dignity,
let him ferment in an open street
provoking pavements
for everything that has
to come. I don't want another one.

(To Marcus Lohlé)