CAMILO AND THE NEREIDA

Camilo had a small boat,

where just him and his catch fit,

Camilo lived in a small town,

in the margin of a calm lake,

whose generosity,

That little town was sustained.

Far from the seas,

ignorant of the cities,

the steps and the words,

they always went to the same places,

just like the sun routine,

being born behind the lake,

and dying slowly,

behind the smoke of a cigar.

Camilo was made to the waters,

very early,

before the gods woke up,

to the heart of some school,

that are delivered to their networks,

wielded by their wrinkled hands.

With the passing of the day,

a furious storm punished the mirror,

and the waves that never were,

they were summoned on their ship,

Camilo fell, Camilo unwittingly,

traveled to the deep,

where he felt that someone,

he sang softly to her ear,

and I caressed him with tenderness,

to clear the fear.

A Nereida in a small lake,

to the lives of your Mediterranean,

it was something that nobody,

as much as I would like to understand,

she just wanted to live,

next to who could only die,

to give it a place in its eternity,

under the protection of his loving care.

I do not know if they were always happy,

I do not know if Camilo learned to sing,

or the Nereida returned to its sea,

but when the gods still sleep,

the fish look for the nets,

Over and over again,

as a suicidal romance,

to try to escape them.