De Niña Aquellos Juegos Te Importaban Poco

From girlhood those games meant little to you,
As if talking to the sea was for crazies,
And laughing in the sun was fatal.

Later, when your quiet restlessness made you go
From a gray day to a dark cheerful sky,
Where you could move like a wall.

You realize that there's nothing to love
And that it's awful to have to give
And to expect from a very rotten fruit
And its similar leaves
That envelop you, that lose you
In the sad path of mud
That you have made today,
That you dirty from your feet to your forehead
White, black, dead.