Vine Del Norte de Ismael Serrano

-
Para o Los Olvidados

Vine del Norte buscando
una canción y una cruz
y allí se cruzó un cometa
y en su estela estabas tú..

En Madrid seguiría lloviendo
tal y como lo dejé
y en Santiago con tus luces
y su noviembre me quemé.

Y fue después de un concierto,
una noche en tu universidaaad,
allí te encontré de nuevo,
-Hoy te invito a carretear.

Acepto gustoso tu oferta,
sólo con una condición,
que no se acabe esta noche
y que no me enamore yoooo.

Andando por la Alameda
tú me empezaste a contar
causas, azares y luchas
en estos días, y al pasar

por delante de La Moneda,
tú tarareaste a Jara,
me miraste: -Así, tan duro,
tienes un aire a Guevara.

Y entramos en un bareto,
y allí alguien cantaba Fito,
-A este paso me enamoro,
sólo me falta otro pisco.

-Déjate de historias, súbete ahí,
y cántame una de Silvio...
-Sólo si me das un beso...
Y todos cantaron conmigooo.

Salimos del bar borrachos,
agarrados de la mano,
y en la calle, como siempre,
jodiendo andaban los Pacos.

Tú les gritaste -¡ASESINOS!
Y los dos echamos a correr.
Tú reías y en tu risa
yo me veía caer.

-Pero ¿dónde has estado este tiempo?
-Se hace tarde, vete a casa.
Y en tu abrazo a lo lejos,
creí oir a los Parra cantando para nosotros...

-Será mejor que me vaya...
Ahí quedé, solo gritando, sin ti,
-Te recuerdo Amandaaa...
-Te recuerdo Amanda...

Al tiempo llegué a mi Norte,
con una canción y una cruz,
con la estela de un cometa,
con tu mentira y con tu luz.

En Madrid seguía lloviendo
triste como lo dejé,
y en Santiago, tantas cosas...

Hoy me muero por volver,
hoy me muero por volver...

Quebrei o acordo. Sem pisco.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

To Someone

-
Image
The architecture of the city is plural and restless. Your voice comes and goes. The sky was pale blue today. White here and there. Clouds. Whispers.  Our dialog is more vivid now. I still see how intense your eyes are. You come and go from me. But I know you never really leave. At least, that is the illusion that keeps me - going? I see patterns. They make sense. Like you made sense a while ago. I can't reason with Love, can I? Love, this palpable, irrational measurement of attachment and desire.  I don't know if you are the same anymore. The same I knew.  Did I ever know you? It doesn't matter because you fit like a symptom fits a disease. You fit my fantasy. My fantasy was so concrete and so tangible. I play us in my head. If I had. If you had. But history doesn't rewrite itself.  I can't walk down the street to try and find you.   Unchanged sea. Under the same sheltering sky. I love you.
Read more

Writing

-
Unresolved pain. Nostalgia. Fire. Vivid dreams at night. Immense love.  I read the other day something an old friend once told me. Go back to what you were good at when you were a child. That's where your natural talent is. I go back, and so many things come up. So many interests. Infinite curiosity. I loved words when I was a child. But I also loved animals and nature. I also loved music and poetry. The beach made me go without sleep. I also loved to dance. I remember attracting people's comments while dancing at parties. Not because I was good but because I did my own thing.  I also liked cooking and baking from an early age. Books were also my private world.  But who am I now, forty years later?  I listen to Riccardo Cocciante, and my heart fills with raw emotion. How can someone be so good and write the most beautiful songs? I need to understand Italian better, but what I know and feel with his songs is beyond anything material.  The power of art has to move...
Read more

Letting you go

-
Sunday Afternoon by Rachael Yamagata. I know it's the right thing to do, but the right thing to do hurts like crazy. I see your presence in my apartment. I see ghosts of you. Messages that I don't want to read. It hit me hard this time. Tuesday morning, I am sitting by the window. It rains. I feel guilty and the wind blows slowly drops of blood. Maybe that's a sign. Someone said: if you like him that much, fight for him. I fought for you. I had you in my hands. I gave you so many opportunities. I gave you so much more than you deserved. It's getting cold. You slapped my face. I cried in your arms. I cried myself to sleep. I couldn't talk anymore. My projects are on hold. I can barely work. I write and I write and the pain doesn't go away.
Read more