If life is a dream
Why torture me?
I can get drunk without remorse
And if I come to stagger
I will fall asleep under the porch of my home
When I wake up a bird sings among the flowers.
I ask him what day we are.
He answers: in the spring,
The season when the bird sings!
I feel strangely moved
And ready to blow me out.
But I return to drink
And I sing all day long
Until the evening moon appears.
And when my songs are silent
I am no longer conscious of what surrounds me.
I want to dream about friendship
Without limit faced with that truncated
By the saws of interests and the dark corners of these theatrical hearts
Chameleons treacherous, dressed in false pretenses
They wander at the top of the ladder yet
And slyly demolish “the little people”
Summing them to be silent on their manigance.
I want to dream about justice
Face to that masked by many artifices of nobility of courtyard
Entangled in the folds of false speeches
Woodcutters rampant in the forest of words
They prune without concern for the rising sap
The inner riches of a screaming life
A recognition of what makes one’s self.
I want to dream simply about everyday life
Life unhindered and smoothly
And not to survival
That makes us this horrible machine of the species called “human”.