"What es lo que estás mirando?”, le dije
A mi hijo más pequeño,
Pues siempre que yo le hablaba
El muchacho no escuchaba
Por estar oteando al suelo.
Yo pensaba que tenía
Falta de concentración,
O que siempre le aburría
Mi larga conversación.
Todos los días, sin cambio,
Ocurría este ritual:
Yo tratando de enseñarle
Cosas de la vida actual,
Charlas sobre lo malo
Y ensayos de la bondad,
Le contaba de deportes
Y de la vida marina,
of space travel
And also about food,
Of all the child spoke
he heard, without looking at
Without answering with a nod
My father's words. Always looking to the corner
for more efforts made to capture their attention
In order to talk about life.
So, one day,
When it happened again, ended up bothering
Its obvious disinterest.
I took him by the shirt and asked him angry
That what I was looking
With so much concentration,
Instead of giving me a little of your attention. My son started
Still mourn
see the ground,
And then, in his ward
As out of a dream Or a nightmare
saw the hazy reflection of a dark silhouette in the corner That
smiled and pointed his finger
My youngest child, quietly
That crazy, nobody would believe
For
The reasons for their fear.
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