Por San Juan

One evening when summer opened its eyes on those streets where you and I grew up, where we learned to run, on a palm of sand a bonfire rose for San Juan. Back then, a piece of wood was a treasure and with an old table we were already rich. Through the streets and squares, we went from house to house to burn everything on that San Juan night. We were four little rascals. We didn't know much about the tears that make the world go round. We were entering life. Never a lie was necessary for us and nothing kept us awake. The years have taken me away from my street and those playmates have been lost. The good one and the nuisance as if nothing happened. It seems like everything burned in the San Juan fire. And now, this evening again I see the youngsters gathering firewood on the street. They run. Like I used to run. I call them and they look at me as if I were a strange and passing worm. Give me a piece of wood to burn or I'll take it from wherever I can, like yesterday, as if there were no other way. I have been like you. I don't want to feel old tonight. Let a piece of wood become a treasure again. Let me be rich with an old table. Through the streets and squares, I will go from house to house to burn everything this San Juan night.