What about now, José?

The party’s over,

the lights are off,
the crowd’s gone,
the night’s gone cold,
what about now, José?
You, what about now?
You, who are nameless,
who mocks the others,
you who writes verses
who loves, protests
What about now, José?
You have no wife,
you have no speech
you have no affection
You can’t drink,
you can’t smoke,
you can’t even spit
The night’s gone cold,
the day didn’t come,
the tram didn’t come,
laughter didn’t come
utopia didn’t come
and everything is over
and everything fled
and everything rotted
What about now, José?
What about now, José?
Your sweet words,
your feverish instant,
your feasting and fasting,
your library,
your gold mine,
your glass suit,
your incoherence,
your hate — What about now?
Key in hand
you want to open the door,
but there's no door;
You want to die in the sea,
but the sea has dried;
you want to go to Minas
but Minas is no longer there.
José, what about now?
If you screamed,
if you moaned,
if you played
a Viennese waltz,
if you slept,
if you were tired,
if you died…
But you don’t die,
you’re hard, José!
Alone in the dark
like a wild animal,
without theogony,
without a naked wall
to lean against,
without a black horse
that flees galloping,
you march, José!
José, to where?