Milonga, milonga,
how lonely you die.
Milonga, your encounters hold
a long story and a brief life.
Your braids, your waist,
Chiclana and the street,
left behind in the suburbs
themes of fabrics, corner, and lamp.
You had your first boyfriend,
little girl, and then
we never saw you again
pass to the workshop.
The glasses and the tangos,
the repeated meetings
turned Esthercita into another woman.
Delfino in ‘Milonguita’
evokes you in his rhythm,
your short little skirt,
your braid, your cotton.
Then, now and then,
through the lyrics of a tango,
we learned of your life, nothing more.
Milonga, milonga,
how lonely you die.
Milonga, your encounters hold
a long story and a brief life.
Now weep for you
the creole guitars,
and they sound their sonorous chords,
six golden roads
that will search for you.