Milonga Por Él

Amid the stage lights
rises the strong shadow of a man
who writhes among the guitars
with a cello's voice and noble tone.

He strikes a pose, arm in the air,
a Becho violin that names love
and in an adagio that shakes him
mixes his blood with the milonga.

His song cuts deep, his song commands,
his lament is pure but it accompanies,
a lonely heart across the planet
planting flowers in the storm.

And now it ignites and grows larger,
the sharp light of his song
and his tender strength, calm and steady,
carves a groove in our hearts.

While they applaud, he stays still,
keeps his face away from the smiles
and there’s no bass string to console him
for his loves, nor the ashes.