Rómulo Pardo Urías English effort: poetry, thoughts and texts

My trombone voice

I walk through the city

tunning my trombone voice,

jazzing the ambient with noice.

My misery won’t let me be happy

always the moon was a nice amulet,

now my time is dying.


Once I had a joyful sight

and I believed strong against

human degradation. And my experience

was awful and sinner, the solitude

arouse in my mind with a million voices.

My trombone voice is shield

in this narcotic country.


I used to believe in illustration values:

freedom, equality, and fraternity.

And the philosophers said we are postmoderns

I that ruin an inner voice, my citizenship voice.

But I had not been a good boy.

I forget music too, trapped

in a bad memory: and I call my life a nightmare.

Then I develop my trombone voice

not for making music

but for jazzing the pain and violence

surrounding us.


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