The Singer

by Luis Ullán
(Salamanca, Spain)

Beautiful as a sour endearment,
covered in plastic kisses and cloudy whispers,
the old singer starts his melody
puzzling words while audience listens.

Then a silence breaks the pavement:
“That´s my face, my mask, my fail;
and there´s no other way to turn the page”,
the old man sings his mistakes.

And although I try to rip that melody out of my ears
it sticks into my head as a tender knife,
cutting softly every piece of sanity.

Now I see myself on a dying night,
surrounded by a world of vanity,
as a crazy homeless chanting “Leave here or die!”
to the people that pass behind
until I come back right on my mind.

It still haunts me, it still scares me
the song that made me a madman.
The voices of rotten thoughts
conquering this artist´s canvas.

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