Isla

De héroes no se nada.
Me han contado quienes
tampoco saben.
Entiendo el mundo
como algo fuera de mi sitio;
no lo conozco y los demás tampoco.

Lo que como, pienso, callo y hablo
no es de mi;
otros ya lo han probado.
Los colectivos nos lo dicen,
nos colectan como afiches:
unos altos, otros flacos,
güeros, pardos...
al fin y al cabo lo mismo.
Todos trazamos el círculo
en este solitario sitio.

Insomniac Thinking of Life

I can see the glim of lamp street light
Gliding through the brim of the door.
The particular noises of this house
Are familiar to me now;
At three the cars stop passing by,
Every now and then a lost one.

(You’ll hear it go by)

Three pills, one cigarette, one cup:
Yes I’m still awake. Cannot stop
The motor of these brains.

I still don’t understand what I keep
Waiting for?

(in the middle of this endless night, in the middle of this endless bed)

Is it maybe for that one day,
When the first sun light ray
Will pull me out of bed,
Throw me smiling
To the streets, more than awake,
Thinking of simple some-things to be
Transiently thankful for?