ARRABAL
AMARGO.

Bitter outskirts, embedded in my life like the sentence of a curse. Your shadows torment my sleepless hours; your night shuts itself inside my heart. With her beside me I did not see your sorrows, your mud and misery; she was my light. And now, defeated, I drag my soul, nailed to your streets as to a cross.

Little corner of the outskirts, with the canopy of stars over your courtyard that I love. Everything, everything lights up when she returns to see you, and my old honeysuckles are in bloom to love you.

Like a passing cloud, my dreams drift away, away, never to return.

Tell no one that you no longer love me. If they ask me, I will say you will come. And so, when you return, my darling, I swear, the eyes of strangers will not be surprised. You will see how everything was waiting anxiously for you: my little white house and the old rosebush... And how once again it soothes its sorrows, dressed for celebration, my old outskirts.