Dazzling papers and black puddles…
they painted the moon on our dilapidated walls!
The owners gave food
that day, we were all brothers,
as on the feasts of the saints
we had the fire and the band.

But it’s over, it’s over, it’s over this other torrid party
we are here alone shouting for life
we are alone in the storm.

And if death drowns us
no one will be with us,
and with disease and bad luck no one will be with us.

They barred the doors to us the ravines opened up Today still two thousand years
we will wear the same clothes.

We remained the mob
the crowd of beggars,
those who snatch from the masters
the masks with teeth.

(1948)

Read by Daniel

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