The Faces of Traveling Tango

Buenos Aires - Julian Centeya

A meeting of corners to your astonishment.

A paper moon over the roof,

like a woolen ball a cat plays with.

That night with so much loneliness, never experienced, I put my shoulder.

You were born to me in a certain way.

Suddenly, certain things happened.

All at once it rains.

The next day, a conviction, and the death of a rose.

You were born to me,

I do not understand the reason, or the mystery,

at a time when a tango patio knew me as its inhabitant.

I rule out common sense, I never justify, moreover,

I wash my hands of it all!

My hunger does not need bread from anyone. My hunger is enough.

At night I go to bed and make love to Buenos Aires, and it is enough.

I love her. I said, I love her. Even more, I feel I discovered her.

I suffer her so much.

In her is the death of my deaths.

I without chips. Alone, owner of my tears,

that are born of my bones,

I owe you Buenos Aires, my thorns.

Look at how much I owe you!

How much is my nothing?

I live leaving a piece of tenderness in each corner.

I grow up from unfortunate love.

Walking your streets I look like you. I look only like you, none other… my Buenos Aires.