A Homero

They were years of fences and wisterias,
of life in Orsay, of crazy time.
Your sad forehead thinking about life
pulled early mornings through your eyes...
And there was the embankment with all the sky,
the corner of the ditch, the blue house.
Everything climbed up its mystery
through the slopes of your southern neighborhood.

Let's go,
come back at twelve...
Let's go
Barquina is waiting.
Let's go...
Don't you see that Pepe tonight,
don't you see that the old man tonight
won't miss the appointment?...
Let's go...
In the end, nothing is certain
and you, brother, are awake
next to Discepolín...

Death was already playing its milonga,
your voice silenced the goodbye that hurt us;
after so much wandering, having too much of things,
stuck in a final, life failed.
I know you won't come, but, even though it's cheesy,
the wall will still wait for you,
and the three and two of the useless stop
and the fraternal rest of our love...