A BOHEMIAN TOAST
Around a cantina table
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on a winter’s night
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rejoicefully were sharing
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six happy bohemians
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The echos of their laughter were escaping
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and, from that quiet town
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they were going to interrupt the imposing
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and profund silence
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The smoke of aromatic cigarettes
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in spirals was raising to the sky
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symbolizing, as it dissipated into nothing
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the life of dreams … the dreams of life
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[...]
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I neglected to tell you, in that evening
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this bohemian group
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among laughter and sorrow, were celebrating
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the happy arrival of the new year
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Suddenly, a manly voice said
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It is Midnight, comrades
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Let us all toast for the year
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that has become part of the Dead
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Let us toast to the year that starts
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May it brings us sweet dreams
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not sour grief
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Let us toast this time to the hope
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that Life throws at us and the pains alleviate
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I toast that, in my existence
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already riddled with violence and vengeance
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if, in my heaven, from yours – clean and divine
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would shine but
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a star … my hope
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I drink and toast to my past,
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which was of light, of love, and happiness,
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and in which the gorgeous foreheads
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of seductive ladies
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had joined mine
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I toast to Yesterday that, with sorrow
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today covers with darkness my poor heart
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scatters its comfort
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bringing into my mind the sweetness
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of joy, of tenderness, of good fortune, and concerns
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I toast that in my mind
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sprout a torrent of divine inspiration,
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that the chords of my lyre vibrate
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the verse that yearns, sings, and fall in love
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I toast that my verses
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reach the center of the woman that I love
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for that with interest my passion pays off
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for that I get intoxicated with the nectar of her kisses
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Continued the barrage of meaningless phrases
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of those so human
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and, after each phrase of ardent enthusiasm
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applause would grow
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They toasted to the Motherland, to the flowers
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to the chaste loves and to heated passions
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that fill with roses the mud of pleasure
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Only one toast was missing, Arturo’s
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the pure bohemian of noble heart
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he stated that he only wanted
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to steal the inspiration from Sadness
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And this way he spoke, with inspired intensity
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I toast to the woman, yet not to the one
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in which you find solace in sadness
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not to the one that gives us her charms
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when you kiss her soft and scented curls
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I do not toast to her … No, comrades
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Sorry that this time I don’t please you
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I toast to the woman, but only to one
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to the one that offered me delights
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and engulfed me with her kisses
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I toast to the woman that tucked me in the crib
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I toast to the woman that taught me from childhood
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the value of profound and truthful love
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I toast to the woman who cuddled me in her arms
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and that bit by bit gave me her entire heart
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To that golden and blessed old lady
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that with her blood she offered me life
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to the one that was the light of my soul
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today I toast to my Mother, to my darling Mother
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To that sad old woman that lives and cries
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and to Heavens implores that I return
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to my Mother, bohemians, who is the sweetness
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poured into my sorrow and, in this night, a star
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who wishes that I soon be with her
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The bohemian became silent
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and not a word spoiled the sentiment
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born from pain and tenderness
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and it appeared that, over that atmosphere,
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was immensely floating …
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A Poem of Love and Sorrow
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Análisis métrico
90
Versos
9.3
Media silábica
841
Sílabas totales