Rodriguez Silvio
Days and Flowers
Santiago De Chile
There I loved a terrible woman crying for the everlasting smoke of that
city cornered by symbols of winter.
There I learned to remove with skin the cold
and then throw my body into the drizzle,
in the hands of the hard and white fog,
in streets of the enigma.
That is not dead,
br/>They didn't kill me
neither with the distance
nor with the vile soldier.
There among the hills, I had friends
who between smoke bombs were brothers.
There I had more than four things
that I have always wanted.
There our song became small
among the desperate crowd:
a powerful song of the
he was the one who sang the most.
That is not dead,
they did not kill it
neither with the distance
nor with the vile soldier.
/>Up to there, the face that was no longer seen followed me, like a shadow,
and death whispered in my ear
that would appear.
There I I had a hatred, a shame:
beggar children at dawn,
and the desire to exchange each rope
for a bag of bullets.
That is not dead,
They didn't kill him
neither with the distance
nor with the vile soldier.
André Velloso - Rio de Janeiro, Brazil
[email protected]

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