El Torero
RAPHAEL
The Bullfighter
Far from the bullring that is a glowing ember,
Defeated and faithless with arms crossed,
On the forgotten bed, he is dying,
His life is slipping away in a river of blood.
On the ground (the sand) his festive suit remained,
All dirty with dust, bathed in sweat,
And the immense pain is greater than his wound,
From hearing the applause for the victor.
Under the sun, of the triumphant afternoon,
The party continues,
No one thinks again
That a brave man fell.
And that never again
With his suit of lights,
Will he step on the bullring
Exuding courage.
He will never feel again
The cheers of the people,
Nor the burning shouts
To acclaim his triumph.
And he will no longer hear
The martial pasodoble,
That invites him to fight
And to win with honor.
On the ground (the sand) his festive suit remained,
All dirty with dust, bathed in sweat,
And the immense pain is greater than his wound,
From hearing the applause for the victor.
Under the sun, of the triumphant afternoon,
The party continues,
No one thinks again
That a brave man fell.
And that never again, no,
With his suit of lights,
Will he step on the bullring
Exuding courage.
He will never feel again
The cheers of the people,
Nor the burning shouts
To acclaim his triumph.
And he will no longer hear
The martial pasodoble,
That invites him to fight
And to win with honor,
Under the sun, the sun, the sun.
