The Whistle:

I am whistling around him

Now that He is sleeping... 

While his inevitable whistle 

Like a sweet call

That turns into a hopeless voice

Whispers in my mind

After having dirtied his hands

After digging his own tomb

I'm whistling by his side

Like a light that never goes out

While he sleeps forever

And ever

...

I didn't know him at all, but I'm whistling by his grave, with white rose petals in my hands to give to... Nobody.

Writing by Andrés Miles © All rights reserved