Romancero Gitano

Laura Estrada


His pen wrote the butterflies

Escaping from my stomach and into

The mouth of a gypsy boy.

He watches the moon dance at night.

He hears horses gallop through the night.

––Huye luna, luna, luna, que ya vienen los gitanos

Para hacer de tu piel unos anillos blancos.

La luna se llevo al niño de la mano

Y también a una niña que se estaba ahogando.



His gypsies ride ‘til they

Arrive across the sea.

In New York, they never sleep and cannot

Dream of what could be.


Romancero sin romance,

He babbles to the Brooklyn Bridge.

He sighs into the Brooklyn Bridge.

His life is in Madrid.

His life – he takes flight.


With gritted teeth and narrowed eyes

Soldiers arrive at the door; he crawls

Across the hard wood floor––

He crawls across, he crawls across…



In Madrid, the moon turned gypsies into dust.

Jinetes sin caballo no pueden andar,

They cannot ride across the sea;

La tinta se ha secado,

El poeta se ha acabado.


In Madrid, the butterflies converge,

Compressed into his hands.

Once they open, a dove takes flight.


In Madrid, he never sleeps.

He watches all with iron eyes

And sighs;


A dove takes flight.


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