I put my head out of my window and see how much the wind’s knife wants to slice it off. On this unseen guillotine, I’ve placed the eyeless head of al… - Federico García Lorca

The weeping of the guitar
begins.
The goblets of dawn
are smashed.
The weeping of the guitar
begins.
Useless
to silence it.
Impossible
to silence it.
It weeps monotonously
as water weeps
as the wind weeps
over snowfields.
Impossible
to silence it.
It weeps for distant
things.
Hot southern sands
yearning for white camellias.
Weeps arrow without target
evening without morning
and the first dead bird
on the branch.
Oh, guitar!
Heart mortally wounded
by five swords.

Between my shoulders, my full and golden soul takes wing. The April sky turns my eyes indigo.

¡Que no quiero verla! Dile a la luna que venga,
que no quiero ver la sangre
de Ignacio sobre la arena. ¡Que no quiero verla!