En Esta Zamba Ausente

When I say your name
the blue rose of the night,
I'll hold my guitar tight, your voice,
your old reproach.

I remember you asked me
not to tempt forgetfulness,
when your goodbye fell silent
it took me off my path.

Chorus

I ask the evening for a poem
and it gives me not a single line,
my sad, aching eyes will see,
longing lost dreams.
And in this absent zamba will come
your handkerchief.

I've walked many roads,
I've retraced my steps,
like a lost verse, my guitar sound
will fade away.

I want to return in a dream
to my own departure,
to tell my land and you
of my deep absence.