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| (Cerro Santa Ana y Barrio de las Peñas 1893) |
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| (Cerro Santa Ana y Barrio de las Peñas 1905) |
I
La mujer a quien amo me sonríe,
su mirada cautiva y me acaricia;
hace que su presencia me extasíe
y provoca en mis labios su delicia.
Sé que me ama aunque calla al pasar,
piensa que no conozco su ilusión
y prefiere en su habitación soñar
que a su oído susurro una canción
y mi voz la transporta hacia los cielos
cual gaviota que vuela hasta mi boca
y así encuentra en mis brazos el consuelo
tan fugaz de su fantasía loca.
Cuando baila conmigo su cintura,
en mis manos, inquieta se deshace
cual luciérnaga en una noche oscura,
como flor que en la primavera nace.
Mas no sabe que al verla caminar
a mis penas consigue ahuyentar.
Sé que me ama, no sabe que lo sé
pero algún día yo se lo diré.
II
La mujer a quien amo ya lo sabe
su alegría es ya parte de mi vida
y son míos los mimos de su suave
mano cuando se siente desvalida.
Esa noche creyó que confesaba
su secreto a su indiferente almohada
y su boca de su ilusión contaba
a la luna que vaga enamorada.
Sus ojitos cerró entusiasmada
al sentir que la brisa la besó
y creyó que por mí era adorada;
no pensó que ese viento sí era yo.
Y vivimos los dos en el secreto
que la gente desea conocer,
yo la miro de lejos muy inquieto
y ella nerviosa no sabe qué hacer.
Desde entonces pasea frente a mí
y me mira, se sonríe y se va;
cuando no nos observa nadie aquí
se me acerca y un beso ella me da.
I
The woman I love smiles at me,
her gaze captivates and caresses me;
she makes her presence ecstatic
and provokes on my lips her delight.
I know that she loves me even though she keeps quiet
when she thinks she doesn't know her illusion
and prefers to dream in her room
that a song whispers in her ear
and my voice carries her to the sky
like a seagull that flies to my mouth
and thus finds in my arms the fleeting comfort
of her crazy fantasy.
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| (Pintura del artista español Vicente Romero Redondo) |
When she dances her waist with me,
in my hands, restless falls apart
like a firefly on a dark night,
like a flower that is born in spring.
But she does not know that seeing her walk
my sorrows manages to drive away.
I know she loves me, she doesn't know that I know
but someday I'll tell her.
II
The woman I love already knows it,
her joy is already part of my life
and the pampering of her soft hand is mine
when she feels helpless.
That night she thought she confessed
her secret to her indifferent pillow
and her mouth of her illusion told
to the moon she wanders in love.
Her eyes closed excited
to feel that the breeze kissed her
and believed that for me she was worshiped;
she didn't think that wind was me.
And we both live in secret
that people want to know,
I look at her from afar very restless
and she nervously doesn't know what to do.
Since then she walks in front of me
and looks at me, smiles and leaves;
when no one sees us here she approaches me
and a kiss she gives me.
