As the sun once made me happy in the day,
now I’m delighted, at night, by the moon’s embrace.
My bohemia sinks into its melancholy,
my bohemia seeks it, mysterious and fateful.
If I’m alone in my room, in my gloomy room,
loneliness shaded by cigarette and coffee,
I open wide the window and the moon kisses me
and the moon kisses me with a kiss of faith.
Old moon
that offered the fortune
of your silver and kindness.
Old moon
I love you like no other,
as no one will ever love you.
You know
it’s a secret, the sorrow
that on full moon nights
I softly shared with you.
Old moon
I love you like no other,
as no one else I will love.
When I wander at night through my distant neighborhood
musing over things that never were and will never be,
the moon gives me its arm, as if it were my brother,
and I tell it my sorrows, my misfortune, my zeal.
It’s the lovely one always, my poetic friend,
white, soft, discreet, dreamy, kind.
If it sees me sad it caresses me, kisses me
and lights up lanterns for my poor outskirt.
