by Luis Ullán
I was the only one meant to cry
as words banged at the door.
— Shut up! God, shut up!—, I screamed,
but nobody answered me,
whilst worse memories came together,
as a stampede of quiet reproaches
established in a foreign happiness.
So I found myself on this scenery,
as a defeated Roman on a painted shield
quietly rioting against unrequited love.
Spending my last hour of doom
like a hidden, striking alarmist,
gazing horizon hearts in bloom,
while accepting there is no chance
Thinking to myself “another lost romance”.