Saturday, 28 November 2015

Heridas Impermeables

En nuestras vidas
Olores invaden nuestras mentes, 
Movimientos sinuosos (en sentido vertical) se apoderan
De nuestras mentes; aromas de rosas, intensificados

Esos olores nos golpean, nos dan cachetadas sutiles, discretas
Nadie lo percibe, nadie puede darse cuenta (ni siquiera uno mismo)
Pero nos deja de cama (he aquí un guiño interlineal)
Ni siquiera el portador, de ese aroma, se percibe

El que lleva ese aroma de bofetada, no se ama 
(o quizá sí, pero con el fin de atraer otras flores, olores), no es lo mismo
El movimiento de él pasa a ser propio 
(como si uno siempre caminase produciendo sinuosidades marcadas)

Momento de risas histéricas
De miradas idénticas
Deseos carnales

 Sé que usted estará riéndose de mis bobadas
En unos días
Cuando se encuentre con el amor 
(que aún no ha descubierto)

Ya verá, usted, que vamos intensificando nuestro aroma
(conforme pasa el tiempo)
Si aún no lo ha percibido, salga, camine, disfrute
(verá a los del tiempo, y sentirá ese aroma intenso a vida)

!Camine!
Mas no se olvide lo siguiente: 
Nunca podrá olvidar miles de olores 
(esos que le han dejado heridas impermeables)
Por más que intente bañarse con agua de lluvia.




Sunday, 22 November 2015

Falso Preservativo

Así, cual preservativo, decide;
Introduciéndose en el cuerpo
De gente que no le pertenece,
Como si su propósito fuese 
Pertenecer a estructuras 
Internas que no le son propias

Eso mismo sucede con el hombre
Que tiene sexo por satisfacción
Para saciar el hambre de su lujuria
Como si eso fuese su causa de vida

Así, cual bacteria, deposita sus hijos
En glóbulos, disfrazados de blancos,
Con el fin de atraer blancos reales,
Para, sin empatía, descuartizarlos;
Les dice "¡vayan, elijan sus hogares!"
Y ellos, asesinan, a esos blancos, puros

Esto continúa ad infinitum,
El cuerpo no resiste.
Las defensas bajan,
Las falsedades aumentan.


 

Sus Ojos

Tenía ojos
 Que miraban espejos
Que deseaban, lejos

Tenía ojos
Que, aunque callados, sangraban
Que, aunque ampollados, saltaban

Tenía ojos
Que buceaban en flores
Que regaban en temores

Tenía ojos
Del color del mar,
Profundos como el mar

Tenía ojos, 

y no lo sabía.





Thursday, 12 November 2015

Thoughts Of Nature

We are thoughts of nature
Natural thoughts that come to be
Being like the cycle of water

Like the water falling from the sky
Like the water falling from the dry...
The dry, sparkling river,

Like the water which flows nonchalantly...
Nonchalantly from the dry mountain whose snow...
Whose snow has been long forgotten by the clouds

Those clouds which are eternal pain relievers
Relievers of long gone ashes which have now become dirt...
Becoming the dirt under the horse's feet

(...)

Now, bear with me
(if your feet are strong enough to climb the Himalayas)
You've read what came first, now you shall read what'll come last

(...)

If you are one of those who fly under umbrellas,
Remember that your body's a cushion for each raindrop
A cushion for each thought cried by a cloud

If you are one of those who slyly use umbrellas,
Remember that ants, cats, bats, are also thoughts...
Thoughts of nature, that cries them for us

If you are one of those with dry umbrellas,
Remember that deep inside your body, there are thoughts
There are thoughts that shall be expressed

If you are one of those with spare umbrellas,
Remember that smaller beings also have feelings
They have feelings and you shall help them if they have not hands.





Friday, 6 November 2015

Be The Paper

What is pain?
The wounds on a peaceful paper
A peaceful paper wrapping up an unexpected gift
A peaceful paper, with words on it, of just the right pressure

What is pain?
The tip of the pen printing a future on a respectful paper
A respectful paper longing not be scratched
A respectful paper craving be straight 

What is pain? 
The pile of wounded stacks of papers making up a novel
A novel that finishes a series of eight heavy books
A novel that will serve the purpose of feeding newborn babies

What is pain?
What is pain, for you? 
For you, that keep walking through tunnels, beaches, deserts and knowledge?
For you, that no matter how infinite the sand might be, will stand strong?

Define pain and then, let the paper know...
Let the paper know how magnificent he is,
Let the paper know how mighty he is,
Let the paper know how he shall live.



Tuesday, 3 November 2015

Plea To Beings

If birds sing to enchaunted depths,
Why can't we, dogs, bark at smiling deaths?
Is it because the rattling crow, above a mare, pleads her death?
Is it because (that same crow) belongs to depths?

If birds sing, let's say: to diseased fungi,
Why are hurricanes  ripping them off?
Why are bids unable to sing to hurricanes?
What is it that keeps birds so...stubborn to sing to fungi?

If birds sing (now I'm generalizing this matter),
Why are those disabled beings murdering them?
Why do those beings murder anything that's below (or above?) them?
Why don't birds fly away from death?

If birds unsing and start to humanize their words,
Will those beings stop that massive killing?
Will those beings try to befriend them?
Will those beings free their caged birds?