She is an old white-haired lady,
She is a strange sculpture
Of a lonely mother.
She hides her wrinkles with powder,
She wants to drown her sorrow in perfume
And make her marble face real,
Real, like it was once.
The silence digs in her mind
And turns dust into beautiful memories.
Two bodies in lustful flames
Are dashing in from the past.
They touch, just for a moment,
Under the sound of tango,
They burn in love thrills
And then fade hidden,
Like silent shadows.
The old lady closes her eyes
And sheds a beautiful crystal tear.
The tear rolls down in juice of grape,
Bad apples and ice cubes.
The old age poisons the sweetness with salt
And starts talking with those dusted shadows again…