Al Atardecer

Moments and relics from yesterday
stolen from what once was
and alone they make us think
that time doesn't want to pass.

To lose ourselves
in memories,
just to lose ourselves
close to sunset.

They are tales of life and walking
that oblivion will fade away,
but as Serrat sang
only half will go away.

And in their hands, leave far from here,
where the traveler who doesn't look back goes,
and at the sunset remember our love,
that shy kiss, a secret lullaby
and small promises in bloom.