Letter to my friend (Wanted Barrio Ponce)

Source: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCesqxb6GvzZMn7V-SRVIh4w

I loved you from the first day I saw you, I were not a child of the same city, vos field, that difference seal our friendship.

Source: http://cafebarbantia.barbantia.es/?p=5401

The year was 1976, at the time an eight year old boy, vos a rural village, many years passed, the other day I saw you in passing that these cute, learn from me, now you're a city.

How silly I was, I was afraid, you forgive me, was a city boy, understand, no offense, you were forgotten in time, without light, I iluminabas with candle light, no water, the water that you gave me the led out of a well, my parents called water tank, the streets were not streets were sand paths, sidewalks your lawn, walked the little paths of sand, and within a corridor forming clumps of trees.

Who ment, if what doted on you, would give anything to turn back time, not that I do not like as now these, but in time remain saved sweet memories of my childhood, if you looked at the timbo of corner, mark with a knife, Luis Ponce, I know you get confused, because on the wall of the church my friends carved into wet cement their names and mine, the son of Gauna said, as understood, if your name is José Luis Fernández, you are the son of Gauna, that I, life is so, others called me torto lychee, you say who you really are, I am the person they say I am, José Luis Fernández son of Gauna the torto Lichi. No matter the name, what matters is what I am, what you me teacher, humility, decency, honesty and solidarity, you told me the day I left for Buenos Aires, is not large suitcase you carry, your goods do not go there, it's never forget your principles, where you come from, your origins, this place.

magical place expect from a storybook, children dream of this place, haunted house, house with tiled roofs or straw, caminito sand, witness my wanderings, the first kiss, the lagoon of sweet water, love nest if the lagoon tell their secrets, the sun blush of the secrets of the place, like forgetting your picnics morning, the warm sun, the cool breeze and the smell of wet grass by the breezes of autumn sprayed, Dona Minga, Don Pinto, Doña Maruca the owner of the only general store, which was ashamed to ask fiado, if you had a big sign saying, Today do not trust tomorrow if not trust by having fear of cloves and put a big nail steel paper, and forget his celebrity, the Lord Almiron who won the big lottery, to change his car and his mules by a large truck. Unemployment here Chamigo, a life can remember, if I know I can not remember all the bad you do not want to remember, I'm not an angel, that's best forgotten, just an anecdote, the recordás the bathroom? I wrote with my hands, the poem, the poem said, "this most sacred place concurring many people, makes the most cowardly force and shits the bravest". How to forget if my mother imposed a punishment, make up my iniquity, paint all bathrooms and the wall of the church, exemplary punishment whole weeks work to pay my iniquity, that's how I met the father even offered me an altar boy in the church , to me………. if just my ...... .. The poor little angel.

You know I did want, who did not want the boy without tooth, eye of coffee, I want the Mrs. Don Pinto, while pregnant with her youngest daughter, great was his desire, life gave him leave.

Look at you now Barrio Friend, how beautiful these, have lighting, a small school, the square, a curator, many stores, a school, your tarred streets are, just stay the old timbo, the only witness of our friendship, I look and do not I think, how nice these.

Over the years did his, will become this elegant city, in contrast to me, life chiseled his way, grooves, nicks, reflected in my face over time, I'm already large have spent 48 years graying say this, many things change in me, almost did not know me, but I say and I repeat, I'm still the same, I keep intact the recueros of our friendship,

How would, for back time, if only one day, a few hours, run through your streets with bare feet resting on old trees, playing with friends, re-carve the bathroom of the church, to return the father which in the sky this, the guainas of my childhood, the daughter of Mrs. Maruca and her brown eyes, pay book you never pay, was right Doña Maruca, not to be trusted, in the place you least expect nail this.

Dear friend memories invade me, I never forget, never I are, I promise you your memories I take with me to the promised land, the land without evil.

A memory of my dear Barrio Ponce