Nadaismo.

Today I went a considerable distance to meet a girl from another country who's getting to know my country.
We chatted and walked, and ate ice cream, and chatted,

 made silence.

I took a bus back home and in the midst of drowining ina novel and an essay I forgot to get off where I was supposed to take the subway.
I ended up at a corner of the city I'd never wandered.

As I found my way back home in a mixture of fear and thrill and wonder,
I saw the night and found it brighter.

I got on another subway, went up the wrong stares, went back down, went back up
I finally took the right trin and a phone call let me know that the reunion I was trying to get to had been cancelled.
I got on the subway and read some more and played some music on tiny earbuds,
but suddenly to male, black, beautiful voices spoke up and there was poetry
in the midst of a night, in a half-crowded, silent subway
in the middle of a country people from another chented
their voices met, and parted, and met again in a samba and suddenly

I'd met nadaism

las pepitas de la granada no son como las de la granadilla
and in the early night I'm smiling, y todo brilla
I'm walking dangerously close to buses, trecking home, being happy

God bless colombia in the subways of Buenos Aires,
the planes, the poverty and the happy don't-give a-fuckers

-Gabriel Nieto