Silbando

A street in Barracas al Sud,
on a summer night,
when the sky is bluer
and the song of the Italian ship is sweeter...
With its fading light, a streetlight
in the shadow flickers
and in a hallway
stands a gallant
talking to his love...

And, from the bottom of the Dock
moaning in languid lament,
the echo brings the accent
of a monotonous accordion,
and across the sky the howl
of some stray dog
and a meditating prisoner
whistles a song...

A street... A street lamp... She and he...
and, coming stealthily,
the shadow of the man
who was once betrayed by the ungrateful wench...
A moan and a mortal scream
and, shining through the shadow,
the glint
with which a facon
gives its fatal slash...

And from the bottom of the Dock
moaning in languid lament,
the echo brings the accent
of a monotonous accordion...
And, to the sound that the bellows grumbles
and in the echo is prolonged
the soul of the milonga
sings its emotion.