Muñeca Rota

Naive little girl with black eyes,
You are not even the shadow of yesterday;
Today you live in a world of disappointments
Wrapped in the fog of your evening.

I seem to see you in your lilac dress,
With your little hat of strange flowers;
The velvet of its frills
Much less soft than that of your eyelashes.

You remember life,
Not just a moment
And the same life on other paths.
You climb the summit of disappointments,
I descend the slope of follies.

Naive little girl, I will continue to admire,
The graceful pout that was in your whims;
And I will always see you in your lilac dress
With your frills and your whims.

Doll, precious doll,
Who were a combination of honey, snow, and roses,
Divine doll, your crystalline voice was a waterfall.

Who undid the soul of your whims?
Who broke your mirror? Who tore your lace?
In the sadness of your disenchantments
There is a whole tragedy of a broken doll.

Who undid the soul of your whims?
Who broke your mirror? Who tore your lace?
In the sadness of your disenchantments
There is a whole tragedy of a broken doll.