The Crime was in Granada: to Federico Garcia Lorca

1. The crime

He was seen walking between rifles,
down a long street
and out into the cold countryside,
under a few dawn stars.
They murdered Federico
when the sun rose.
The firing squad
didn’t dare to look him in the face.
They all closed their eyes;
they prayed: not even God saves you!
Federico fell dead,
with blood on his brow and lead in his guts?
... you know the crime was in Granada,
poor Granada!? In his Granada.

2. The Poet and Death

He was seen walking alone with Death,
not scared of her scythe.
Was the sun already on the towers, the hammers
on anvils? The anvils, the anvils of the forges.
Federico was speaking,
flirting with Death. She was listening.
"Because in my poetry yesterday, my dear friend,
the slap of your dry palms rang out,
and you gave ice to my singing, and gave an edge
to my tragedy with your silver sickle,
I will sing of the flesh that you don’t have,
the eyes that you don’t have.
your tresses tossed in the wind,
your red lips where they kissed you...
Today like yesterday, my gypsy girl, my death,
it's so good to walk alone with you,
through the air of Granada, my Granada!"

3.

He was seen walking...
My friends, carve
from stone and dream in the Alhambra,
a memorial to the poet,
over a fountain where water weeps,
and forever say:
the crime was in Granada, in his Granada!