Alvaro Romero... The agony of living

A journey trough life



Do I get paid to talk!? no! all right?!
I don't get paid to talk,
I get paid to drive...
                            And so I drive.
   But if you wanna talk, you start.
My conversation is not included in your fare,
then, if you don't like it!
                            don't complaint!

Moving Up!

It's been said that
                love has ups and downs.
        I saw you with someone
                 going up.
                 ... I get it now.   


Your last kiss tasted earthy... 

                          like morning dew...

It was October already. 

   Raggedy clouds hung from the sky, 

   cranes flying south sang a song for us...

                      Asking us to stay together.

You asked me to hold your hand 

             Instead I gave you was a rainy day.

Tomorrow... Tomorrow you are going be back to dust... 

                        the day after we will be rain.

It is love... I know.

And she said, 'why do you say you love me

if you don't even know me?

And I said... I don't know!

It just happened! I can't explain...

Maybe is your eyes,

Maybe is your ass...

                      but I just don't know.


I know, is not your conversation,

nor your fashion style...

But when you talk and when you walk.

when you look at me from afar,

when I look at you from behind

                              I know.... is love.


How did it happen, you ask.

I just don't know, I say.

You keep asking the same question

over and over.

And I keep avoiding the answer,

but I am giving it to you now...

This is the answer... I just don't know.


You say: How do you say you love me?

If you don't even know me?

And I say... I don't know.

                     I can't explain it,

                            It just happened.

                               Maybe is your eyes...

                                  or maybe is your ass.


But I know is not your conversation.

I know is not your fashion style.

I know. When you talk and when you walk.

When you look at me from afar,

when I look at you from behind...

                                  I know is love!


If we are going to rationalize love.

If we are going to measure it by words.

Then... what's the point?

It's not going to lead us anywhere.

And I'm not going to feel love no more.


For me, all what counts it's what I feel.

I don't want it in words.

I don't want to say: It's because your are smart...

                                                     Why lie?

I don't want to say, 'It's because you're funny!

                                      maybe you are not!

I don't want to say, Its because we are a match...

                                                we don't match.


What I want to say, is what I said.

All I want to say is that it may be your eyes...

but most likely is your ass!

All I want to say is what I feel,

all I want to say is what I see.

And I know what I see...

When I see you walking away from me!


I't not your conversation what I like.

It's not that you are successful...

...So, no. Is not your conversation.

                                  It might be your eyes...

But for sure is your ass...

Yesterday it was waving at me goodbye

If this is goodbye...

So this is goodbye!



  When  looking at you
                        On foggy mornings or gloomy nights
                             At the distance from the sea
                                Your two mosque towers...
                                    Call out to me.
               When you come like the wind
                     Blowing gentle the sails of my ship,
                         When you talk and when you walk,
                             I am a sailor who calls you home.
               When your aroma and your voices
               a multitude of multitudes singing
               Atop a minaret praying salat
               Wrapped in the blanket of our own sharia

                                         ...I wish I could walk your streets
                                                                                    ... Alexandria.

In My Home...

In My Home...     

    There are places where the wind does not blow,

    and a light beams is littered by dust.       

    A silent place with a few whispers,         

    falling down, from my ears to my heart.


    And now, you are inner,

    walking slowly by its rooms,

    Looking at its walls,

    touching with your hands.


   There is nothing to fear about,

                      nothing to hear,

                            to see...

                                 But me.