The cross of this corner brings us once more,
our souls in our eyes, the longing in our voice.
We fearfully look at each other thinking perhaps,
there’s still bitterness in either of us.
It’s not true, my life; it’s not true, my love,
that so much torment has finally ended,
that now as we meet on this return,
between tears and kisses,
we come back from goodbye.
Are you crying?
How good your tears are for me!
So much
that my heart already aches.
Don’t speak of your wounds,
don’t mention the past
nor that dream shattered
justly or unjustly.
I too was wounded,
waiting in vain,
with fists on my brow,
always absent and pursued.
Are you crying?
I also know what it’s like to have
eyes full of blood
from so, so much crying!
The old sidewalk and the great wall,
the usual corner, the platform light…
Remember how many nights your emotion went,
behind the blue smoke carried off by the train.
It’s not true, my soul; it’s not true, my love,
that life is beautiful and only now do we
know what it’s worth, all of it,
when, in the return,
a kiss and a yesterday come back.
