Marioneta

I don't know what soft charm that house had
in the humble beauty of the colonial courtyard
covered in the summer by the flowery mantle
spun by the wisteria, the grapevine and the rose bush...

I think I see you! The short pollerita,
on a steep bench the tips of your feet,
your tousled curls, and gazing absorbedly
the puppets that spoke, English, Russian and French.

-Up, Doña Rosa!....
Don Pánfilo, light!...
And that puppeteer
with a piercing voice
gave us the show.
Our eyes were ecstatic:
those puppets
jumped and danced
igniting in your restless soul
the warm emotion...

The years of the laughing childhood have passed by
on the road to oblivion; so did the puppets.
Pyrotechnics and promises caressed your ear...
you left home, it was not known with whom.

Backstage there, ridiculous and petty,
the simple scenery of your home is giving way...
And you, on the proscenium of a frivolous destiny..,
you are a fragile puppet that dances without ceasing!