Where Is The Boy? Poem by Osiel Silverino

Night is coming and already hear the fireworks;
Children are happy,
But it is a weak happiness,
The bliss of ignorance.

Night is coming and already hear laughter;
The drunken of the bar to show cheerful,
The owner of the pub is euphoric,
The rum is the smell of perfume.

Night is coming and I see the empty chairs,
Slamming doors,
The hurried footsteps on the stairs and elevators;
All flustered, the stopped traffic,
Crowded bus stops, overcrowded buses.

Behold the night comes:
The bath has been taken,
His hair combed,
The brand new clothes
And the debut of expensive perfume.

Behold the night comes:
Colored lights stand out,
The fireworks light up the sky,
Kisses, hugs, congratulations,
Clinking glasses at hand not as firm.

Behold the night comes:
Family and friends around the table,
No memory, no pain, no sorrow,
French toast, ham, peru, barbecue, farofa,
Apple pie, plenty.

Behold, the church bell chimes twelve times:
It's late! Sobriety was lost in a few doses.
No one remembers the reason,
No one knows the meaning
The boy cries contracted in a corner
Where have they laid not to be noticed.
24/12/15
Osiel Basílio