El Quarto Dels Trastos

The Room of Junk

There are colonies of moths on the little girl's dresses,
there are woodworm restaurants for the beams and among the furniture,
and from time to time a moonbeam,
gets tired of sleeping outside and enters the attic.

And the white silk handkerchief drags on the floor,
dusting off the crumbs and snot from the body,
no one hears her cry, no one wipes her snot,
and the handkerchief wonders: Will I know love?
What I've been through in life,
what I've been through in history...
Without pain or glory.

And the silence of the candle fucking the candlestick,
the bedroom closet that knows something about love and hate,
and from time to time a swallow enters through a hole in the ceiling,
lays an egg in the nest and flies... Flies...
A family of swallows has emigrated from the attic.

A tin basin is tucked away in a corner,
no ass approaches it, no armpit perfumes it,
no tired foot soaks in it, basin you're still.
It's progress, it will be the shampoo, the death of bar soap,
above it the misfortune, the forgetfulness of those who now wash
in shiny white showers.

There's a black and white radio dreaming of being a color TV,
there's also a painting of a still life,
time has rotted the fruits,
by the way, speaking of time there's an old clock,
will it sound the last hour, will it be late or will it be early?

On the trunk a sepia-colored portrait of a sergeant,
he's the family's grandfather, a cavalry soldier,
died a war hero but framed in this picture,
confined to this photo, here captive you make me pity,
How did you manage to fall so low? With only a portrait as a memory,
grandfather, you're also a piece of junk....

There's a crucified stuffed squirrel on a branch
and the screams of a mousetrap: "I want blood, I want to destroy rats",
and from time to time a thread of life,
the family's grandma comes up to pay a visit.
She opens a drawer and puts on a wedding dress and dances...
Dressed as a bride she dances... and a doll envies her.