A humble neighborhood with houses
that reflect its tin sorrow.
A human neighborhood
while a distant clock chimes
at two in the morning.
A workers’ neighborhood,
a corner filled with memories
and a streetlamp…
Oh, streetlamp—
the things you must see these days!
Oh, streetlamp—
yesterday has gone away…
the shadows
that escape your gaze tonight
leave me, in the middle of my little alley,
sadder than ever before.
Your light
has the tango in its pocket
(smells like old cigarettes)
it has lost its shine and glimmer
and has become a cross to bear…
Homero Expósito (1918 - 1987) Argentina
Translated by Derrik Pilar
Source: Poetry of the Tango
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