I wouldn't question the kisses you may offer,
not now, knowing as we do that hell
only exists inside us
and that the enemy's bullets
are grazing our memories.
I wouldn't question the words dear, love ,
not even the promises women make,
when something hurts them, I mean,
when they let flow a river of tears
to melt our hearts, simply and brutally.
I'm not going to applaud your gaiety
or those whims that dance on your hands
when the weekend is so terrible and long.
In plain words, immune to surprises,
and thinking how the homeland is a well of violence
and that the blood of the exploited is crying for justice,
I'm not going to question your virginity,
or whether you are single,
or the frustrations you may suffer in your bed.
Only remember these words: we
are fucked