:: Ismael Serrano ::

You sleep,
while the city bangs against the glass with its grief,
oblivious to your sleeping. A shame that this miracle
of seeing you sleeping peacefully
will not overflow the walls of this room.
Hopefully tomorrow,
when you awake,
my pain will sleep.

You sleep,
and under a desk lamp a student prays for the madness
of escaping with the garbage truck lads.
And meanwhile the bars
bury the guilt of this great city.
So many solitudes
not knowing you sleep
cannot love.

You sleep,
sleepless I roam the house and look for you, restless,
because I dream beside you,
even when I don't sleep with you.
You sleep,
forgive my damn habit of waking you up
because I'm frightened,
or because I'm late.

You sleep,
and a man writes verses in front of a computer.
Trembling, in the screen, he opens Pandora's box.
And in a hotel room,
searches on fire in the minibar
the murmur of waves
a couple who
won't sleep tonight.

You sleep,
and a man cries in a taxi while the radio sounds.
A naked woman stops him at a traffic light.
Nobody knows you sleep,
it's not in the newspapers.
A shame those people
who will never kiss peace
on your eyelids.