Maybe the bird of the town
don't hate
maybe he doesn't hate,
maybe he just wants to be able to hold
his little nest
that it cost him heaven and mud
who built twig by twig.
Maybe the town bird doesn't hate,
maybe he's tired of the cold
rotten to run the worm
tired of the rain
fall on the crib
of their chicks.
Maybe what they call hate on TV
be nothing but indignation,
maybe the town bird is
to the neck
to work and work and never arrive
at the end of the month,
with wet wings always
with a thirsty beak always,
maybe the bird of the town
does not hate but suffers
and curses Latin American chance,
maybe you should listen to it
what does he sing
what does it say
which pen hurts.
It's not that he hates, it's that he's tired,
to hit the tree of dignity
and that always
forever
sound dry and empty.
Maybe if they didn't hit him with stones
if they didn't show him the rubber band with
that whip him,
the village bird would return
to sing in the street.
but hungry
it is difficult for the people to sing,
with the nest always about to fall
it's hard
than the bird
don't walk
with rage
between the teeth