Cobardía

Yes sir,

I also had twenty years of flourishing existence,
When one believes to be the most macho, capable of everything in life,
Not afraid of obstacles, none intimidates us,
There, we don't believe in old age, the immeasurable pride,
You can breathe youthful fervor everywhere,
But we don't realize it even when it ends.

It's a pride to have a love on every corner,
And leaving a girl pregnant, is an elucidated feat,
One thinks to be the most macho that has ever existed in life.
I also had my share of being a compadrito, that involvement.

She was a special girl,
One pensive night she communicated the event to me, and I bid her farewell,
It wasn't because I didn't love her, she was very dear to me,
But I, an irresponsible, vagabond without measure, told her:
You must abort! Why not? Why don't you take care then?,
Without thinking that my expression was filled with deadly poison.
My love, let's not do that, the heavens punish that,
What heavens or what the hell, the matter is decided!,
Either you get rid of it, or you stay alone with your belly.

I felt like I killed her, that day I won't forget,
She cried and breathed, but she was dead inside,
Because the fruit of a love I offered without lies,
To the one hosted in her womb, an unparalleled shelter,
That innocent creature, was compromised,
With no sin other than being the child of a genocidal rat.

The doctor, what a scoundrel, if this action is prohibited,
To earn a few pesos, he aids and encourages her,
Accursed healer-killer and guilty of my wound,
The one that eats away and burns within me,
The gloomy, sad room; she lying on the bed,
Beside her, an almost rotten flesh embryo,
An innocent little angel with his gaze lowered,
He carried no grudges in his fresh soul, no less intrigues,
I wanted him to reproach my unworthy action,
But he was a gentleman, a gentleman who nests in the chest,
Shyness and bravery, and a solution to a problem,
And a gentleman doesn't stoop to talk to a murderer.

The gloomy, sad room, she lying on the bed,
Beside her, my son, his face faded,
There was no death grimace on his mute mouth,
His hands immaculate and seasoned with tenderness,
That figure, that pride that captivates any lady,
And a little chest, like a colt's chest in stampede,
He was blood of my blood, life of my life,
Where is the macho who says that crying is for women?,
Let him come and confirm it, or else let him come and say,
That tears will never be enough to wash the wounds,
The wounds left by the dagger of infamy from that improper action.

In the silent nights when a star twinkles,
I think that he watches me from there without grudges,
I want to ask for forgiveness or have someone ask for it on my behalf,
But my conscience burns, it screams at me, why look at him?,
I no longer have a complete soul, it's more than divided,
I have pieces of soul because it's torn apart,
If it's true that God exists and punishes the sinner,
He messed up with me, lost the whole game,
Because there's no punishment in this life or the next,
To hit as deserved my infamous cowardice.