(Tango)
A wave of pain sordid ...
I snuck out the window ...
I was sitting in my enduring Bar ...
It was a Sunday afternoon ...
I saw the child mourn ...
What had brought the mother ...
He played on Sunday, the father,
Take him out ...
Shouted sobbing, the boy ...
Not! ... Not! ...
Go with Dad ...
I suspected it was, this ...
The first time ...
The father was guessed ...
A silent cry,
In the depths of his being ...
Where? ... It would take ...
A "Shopping with player" ....
Perhaps , the Zoo ...
His icy preferred ...
I saw him walk away, both,
taken from his little hands,
Heading stop ... A "collective" ...
Maybe ... tears of impotence ..
Even ... more intensively, the child ...
Then he remained for a week,
To have to suffer ...
In the mind of the Father docile ...
It lost its worth, as in a maze.
Just a thought, afflicted him ...
Return him to his mother,
the "six o'clock" ..
After returning alone,
After, met ...
its sad and sordid, department ...
In the long run, will this habit ...
as, in many cases ..
But the image in your mind ...
not blow away ... no ...
Can also
be the Mother, the "subject" ...
But it is much less common ...
There is a Tango meditator
Circulating in the neighborhood
who wants to sing,
this unusual embarrassment ...
The who suffer ... many ...
What God! ...
We tear both our souls ...
As if we were ... of "stick" ...
/ Daniel H Guasti
pisulinoal@yahoo.com.ar
"collective" = a bus
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