Tristezas de la calle Corrientes

Street
like a valley
of coins for bread...
River
without deviation
where the city suffers...
How sad and pale are your lights!
Your signs dream of crosses!
Your posters, cardboard laughter!

Laughter
that needs
the confidence of alcohol.
Cries
turned into songs
to sell us love.
Market of sad joys...
Exchange of caresses
where hope hangs!
Sad. Yes,
because it's ours!
Sad. Yes,
because you dream!
Your joy is sadness
and the pain of waiting
cuts through you...
And with a pale light
you live crying your sorrows!
Sad. Yes,
because it's ours!
Sad. Yes,
because of your cross!

Vagrants
with flattery
of worldly bohemia.
Poor,
with no more money
than the desire to succeed,
smooth the path of waiting
with blood all full
of cuts, on the table of some bar.
Street
like a valley
of coins for bread...
River
without deviation
where the city suffers...
The men sold you like Christ
and the dagger of the obelisk
bleeds you endlessly.