Mi Estrella

I have to resort to my little intelligence,
it's taking away my desire to walk my grass path,
and covers it with stones.
It has no name, it doesn't exist, but I can see it,
it's made of precious metals, it's expressed in wood,
where the hell is my star?
It shines in turns for those who desire it,
when it cries for me, I open it up
and wait for me to tell a thousand stories that no one cares about.
Where the hell is my star?
that shakes the ashes that still burn me,
arranges them and spits them out in fist and letter
and waits for me to tell a thousand stories that no one cares about.
I ask my senses, one by one,
if they remember the color of those flowers
that wrapped around the poets,
if they were withered
I need them to appear,
to water it with their tears,
to open up with life and legs,
where are you hiding, you bastard?,
where the hell is my star?
It shines in turns for those who desire it,
when it cries for me, I open it up
and wait for me to tell a thousand stories that no one cares about.
Where the hell is my star?
that shakes the ashes that still burn me,
arranges them and spits them out in fist and letter
and waits for me to tell a thousand stories that no one cares about.