Bolsillos - Pedro Guerra

En los bolsillos llevo el mar cercando el mundo

Como un cristal salado que siempre hay que mirar

Y arriba las montanas cortadas contra el cielo

Como un perfil de sombras contra la soledad

Y llenan mis bolsillos canciones que no canto

El alma de esa gente morena como el sol

Y barcos en la noche, huidas y linternas

La tinta destenida de una carta de amor

Nada al fin me pertenece

Pero viajan siempre ahi

Como luces de un pasado

En que no fui

Nada al fin me pertenece

Pero viajan siempre ahi

Como sombras de un pasado

En que no fui

En los bolsillos llevo fantasmas de mi abuelo

Diez fotos del cincuenta y una guerra civil

Sonido de tambores.

El barro y los espejos

Donde se contemplaron los rostros que no vi

Y llenan mis bolsillos promesas de un futuro

Nacido de un pasado cargado de dolor

Mujeres contra el suelo, infancia frente a Cristo

Idiomas y banderas, la ira y el amor

Nada al fin me pertenece

Pero viajan siempre ahi

Como luces de un pasado

En que no fui

Nada al fin me pertenece

Pero viajan siempre ahi

Como sombras de un pasado

En que no fui

In my pockets I carry the sea surrounding the world

Like a salt crystal that you always have to look at

And above the mountains cut against the sky

Like a profile of shadows against loneliness

And they fill my pockets with songs that I don't sing

The soul of those people brown as the sun

And ships in the night, escapes and lanterns

The faded ink of a love letter

Nothing finally belongs to me

But they always travel there

Like lights from a past

in which I did not go

Nothing finally belongs to me

But they always travel there

Like shadows of a past

in which I did not go

In my pockets I carry ghosts of my grandfather

Ten photos of fifty-one civil war

Sound of drums.

The mud and the mirrors

Where the faces that I did not see were contemplated

And they fill my pockets with promises of a future

Born from a past loaded with pain

Women against the ground, childhood in front of Christ

Languages ​​and flags, anger and love

Nothing finally belongs to me

But they always travel there

Like lights from a past

in which I did not go

Nothing finally belongs to me

But they always travel there

Like shadows of a past

in which I did not go