Ever since he was a very young boy, he would jump for joy
when the cool rain fell from the heavens.
Jets from the roofs, your rumor had
the divine silence of melancholy.
The children with their hands covered their ears,
and listening with astonishment to the deep sounds
of the heart, which sounds as if it were the sea,
they felt a supreme desire to cry.
And as by the rain, everything was interrupted,
things were bathed in a color of oblivion.
And their minds wandered in a divine leisure,
very propitious to the tales of Sinbad the Sailor.
The rains of my land taught me lessons…
with Ali Baba, the forty thieves pass.
And they sang my dreams in the rainy night:
Aladdin’s lamp, miraculous lamp!
And as the rain falls, the oldest maid
he recounted his stories in an ambiguous way.
Another of the miracles that I sing about in the rain
is that, when its lymph falls, my city puts on a new mantle
, that when it is washed… I think of one of those
austere and impeccable Dutch cities:
a washed city, without dust , brand new,
where the cleanliness of his blessed prayer reads…
All roads are like a flower of adventure
for the sweet Quixote of the Sad Figure.