Tita de Buenos Aires

They painted your eyebrows with two strokes of hot asphalt
and Buenos Aires was drawn on your forehead.
And that love sorrow that enlarged your dark circles, missing the appointment,
you couldn't erase it not even with holy water.
Your daring word was shield and sword,
your insolent gaze, how afraid you were of people hurting you.
Those people who talked and gossiped badly about your wisdom.
They never knew what you already knew.
Tita from Buenos Aires, my Tita,
the one of hot tangos and icy hands,
the one of prayers to the sky like Mother Mary.
The one from Abasto market, the one from tram rides.
That crazy courage of a wild horse gallops in your veins
when you dance a tango, when you sing your sorrows.
And even if you scold me, call me crazy,
I don't complain, your silent gaze is also a piece of advice.
They painted your eyebrows with two strokes of hot asphalt
and Buenos Aires and its Corrientes street remained.
That love sorrow that enlarged your dark circles, missing the appointment,
they couldn't erase it not even with holy water.
Tita from Buenos Aires, my Tita,
the one of hot tangos and icy hands,
the one of prayers to the sky like Mother Mary.
The one from Abasto market, the one from tram rides.
How few, how few realized how much fear you had.