Brother, today I sit on the brick bench outside the house, <br />where you make a bottomless emptiness. <br />I remember we used to play at this hour of the day, and mama <br />would calm us: "There now, boys..." <br />Now I go hide <br />as before, from all these evening <br />prayers, and I hope that you will not find me. <br />In the parlor, the entrance hall, the corridors. <br />Later, you hide, and I do not find you. <br />I remember we made each other cry, <br />brother, in that game. <br /> <br />Miguel, you hid yourself <br />one nigbt in August, nearly at daybreak, <br />but instead of laughing when you hid, you were sad. <br />And your other heart of those dead afternoons <br />is tired of looking and not finding you.And now <br />shadows fall on the soul. <br /> <br />Listen, brother, don't be too late <br />coming out. All right? Mama might worry.<br /><br />César Vallejo<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-my-brother-miguelin-memoriam/
