Mundana

Let's drink and cry, the night invites us,
just like the friends returning from yesterday,
to bare our souls showing raw
the deep scars of our suffering.
If your hand doesn't reach the sky you dreamed of,
neither in the desert of my soul was there a flower,
your wings are broken, that's why you tumbled
to this dark and sad refuge of love.

The fury of men, worldly, condemns you.
The mud and splinters embed in your being.
I am a pilgrim battered by sorrows,
you a broken glass, where Magdalene,
shows her tremendous weariness of a woman.

If we are two mistakes with the same life,
suicide with me, specter of love.
If we are two weariness, two sorrows, two fatigues,
lost in the murky torrents of alcohol.
Let's drink and cry because tears and drink,
the white bridal trousseau that encourages once more,
and lends me the dream with which to invent life,
that, outside of this puddle, I shall never live.