Emilia

Emilia,
your ruins
I read them with a good voice,
they have doors like you.
How ridiculous my letters,
How ridiculous the shadows of my dreams.
How well I remember you
crying.

Emilia, you left along with every song,
hiding in a trunk
like an inevitable sign,
and there are anecdotes furrowing my brow.
How well I remember you crying.

What will your instinct say when it feels this song
and what will you say, as you approach
the maximum distance between us.
Who knows that a dying soldier sang to you,
that there were scents of a jungle,
that there were cinemas, that it rained.
Vallejo thus discovered us,
Byron was in his place.
Everything happened with us.
Emilia, how horribly beautiful
that time was.

How horribly beautiful
that time was.

Emilia, what's wrong,
what hangover led us to silence,
to remember.
Some wind has given us
and on its tips we argue with death:
not to convince you crying,
Emilia.