Elegía Para Una Muchacha Roja

She was born in a town where the sun
Rains its mead rain,
Where the trains, from the rail
Stain the sky with smoke
And the orange is a lantern
That multiplies fruity light
And where the colossal bee
Trots the airs with passion
To keep in a drawer
Blond mysteries of glass.

Her childhood was a long winter,
Hunger and distances to erase,
With school notebooks
And wounds on her feet,
Pilgrimage from time to time,
Further and further from home,
Without a log to burn,
Without a hand to hold,
Without a light to defend
But a wound to heal.

That's how the companion grew,
Rough combative flame,
Always beaten and offended
By a gust of wax,
The companion.

The big city swallowed her
With so much laundry to do,
With so much firewood to chop,
With so much gray necessity.
She did real work:
Served at the lazy man's table,
Sewed a blue suit in a century,
One day without embroidering
And kept the time to dream
In the depths of the trunk.

Then the companion saw
That there was a world to change;
That it was necessary to fight
In search of spring
And with tangled hair
And with two torn hands
She merged into the tide
That destroyed the foundations
Of the old discontented world,
To make the dawn clean.

That's how the companion fought,
Rough combative flame,
Always beaten and offended
By a gust of wax,
The companion.

With a red hand she brought down
Stone by stone the wall,
It was endless like a net,
It was a flag that waved,
It was a lioness that fought,
It was a sweet bed and a handkerchief,
It was a vigilant in the vigil,
It was an arm and a fighting thunder,
Until a shot simply
Covered her heart with ice.

That's how the companion fell,
Decorated by her wound,
The most beautiful, the chosen one
Under the skin of the flags,
The companion.