There are three kinds of people, the dead, the living and those who are in pain. She calls me and fascinates me, she left her islands far away, my mother. Big tides and big shipwrecks, it's an idea from the bottom of the trees, my mother. She is the voice of the past, on the broken, the fallen night, my mother. She reassures or she does not, she is of all colors, my mother. When I roll on her beach, my body is tired of savages, my mother. She tells me that before me, other men have lost their voice, some. I listen to her voice, her tempo and the cargo's sirens in the air. These are a few words for Atlantis, at a time when life is liquid, my mother. Leave, listen to the silence, far from the world and arrogance, my mother. We are fleeing inaccessibly, very far from the useless crowds, my mother. With this contagious charm that suits adventurers, very proud. You never repeat yourself, and that's why I like you, my mother. When you receive this letter, you will surely be very far, my mother. While the neck of my song comes on you by drifting in the air. My friends, take as a gift the beautiful tango bars of Buenos Aires. And if there is a hidden treasure, it is less beautiful than friendship, my brothers. Translated by Elham Arabi Translated by Elham Arabi Translated by Elham Arabi