E.T.

We sent rockets to the Moon,

we send rockets to Mars,

we'll send rockets to the Sun.

Trying to find something.

Something we don't have

here in the Earth

under our boots.

We search for someone,

with a different skin color,

no hair on the head,

three eyes and one foot.

Someone who speaks a language to be understood.

Without realising that

he's the guy of the next door

we meet everyday at the elevator

on the third floor.

ME GUSTA COCINAR

Me gusta cocinar

como mi madre lo hacía.

Despacio,

oyendo el borbotear de la cazuela.

Probar la sopa,

echar una pizca de sal,

y volverla a tapar.

Así durante horas mientras leo un libro,

o escribo poemas,

como ella hacía punto,

o jugaba a los solitarios.

Hasta que el aroma

que llena la cocina

me dice que es tiempo

de sacar la cazuela del fuego

y quemarse la lengua

al volverla a probar.

Pensar entonces en otra receta,

y volver a empezar.

Probar, sal y tapar.

SUNDAY BREAKFASTS

Every Sunday morning

we have breakfast in bed.

Some croissants, orange juice

and a "café".

Some of the days you wake up

and get it prepared

before I open my eyes,

yawn and stretch.

Other days I try to make it myself,

although I forget the orange juice,

spill the coffe,

and get the croissant burnt.

But you still love me these Sundays

and all the other weekdays.