Naranjo en flor

The ghosts of garlands
hang lightly on my heart
their orangeflower scent
a sweet and bitter echo
of a love that faded
in a precocious frost.

my flowers know that there are
times when the mind is blinded
by tears from which no flowers grow,
when all streets are cornerless,
nowhere to walk but away

and yet they also know that
there is always an afterwards
always a new tomorrow to walk towards

and the ghost-fragrance
of their crushed white petals
reminds me constantly
to seek once more
my flowering season

I´ve been learning to sing some tangos lately… including the beautiful Naranjo en Flor. While it´s beautiful, I can´t entirely share the bitterness and feeling that there is no recovering from a lost love. Perhaps there is no forgetting a deep love, but that does not mean that the pain will always be so deep that it traps you in the past. So I took the same images and wrote the poem above as my response.

Here´s a recording of the song:

And here´s a translation of the text:

She was softer than water,
than the softest water,
she was fresher than the river,
flowering orange tree…

In that summer street,
lost street,
she left a piece of life
and walked away…

First one has to know suffering,
then how to love, then how to depart,
at the end walk thoughtless roads…
Perfume of the orange flower,
empty promises of love
that vanished in the wind…

Afterwards….what does afterwards matter?
All my life is a yesterday
that detains me in my past,
eternal, ancient youth
that has left me intimidated
like a bird without light.

What did my hands do to her?
What must they have done
to leave in my chest
so much pain?

Sadness of an old orchard,
song from the street corner
with a piece of life,
flowering orange tree…