To sing the automobiles stop
and they sleep in the middle of the highway
like tired vagabonds,
and the locks lose their power,
at the same time which death
and the closest family visits us
without taking anything for their bedrooms.
To sing, the lights of the city
turned off because more important
are the shadows we remember
than the light that dazzles us,
and the doves take advantage of the time
to stop on the head of the statue in the plaza
that is more vulnerable because of the dreams.
To sing, the plants stop their growth;
the radios pause in silence
like rainbows that nobody sees;
the cash sits in the electric chair
but it doesn’t die
and the kisses go out to fly
through the sky like jet planes.
To sing an old lady becomes young
and a young boy grows up;
the milky way fits in the square
of the window;
an urgent telegram arrives
and the last of them
and abandoned men
open the mouth, swell up the chest
and sing the nursery rhyme
of the anonymous losers.
(Trans. Robert Manzanares)