Mother, don´t tell me:
"Son, stay at home…
Have dinner with us
and sleep later…
"When you were a child
it was so nice seeing,
your round face,
your rosy cheeks…
" I used to beg God
again and again:
That he will never be ill...
he will live to be one hundred.
That in my old age
my eyes will see
a robust, rosy,
smart young man.
That he will not look
like those men that
spend their nights
going from café to café.
“But God has punished me…
and only He knows why.”
Mother, don´t tell me:
"Son, stay at home…"
The street calls me
And I will go to there…
I am sad
and this pain is so deep that
neither you nor anybody else
can understand,
and in the middle of the street
I fell so good!
What is my pain?
I don`t know what it is!
But it forces me to leave...
to run until I am so tired
I could drop.
The street calls me
and I will obey…
On the street,
my feet become light…
I`m filled with rhymes
without knowing why…
The street, the street,
the crazy life!
Night, night,
what sweet drunkness!
The poet, the street, and the night
love each other…
The street calls me...
and the night as well…
See you soon mother,
I am going to bloom!