miércoles, 25 de marzo de 2015

Broken mirrors

In the desert of broken mirrors the sun reflects with the splendor of thousand suns.
At night neither darkness nor moon, all the light accumulated.

In the sea of broken mirrors the ripples were cutting reflections on their way.
The sea keeps at the bottom broken and salty reflections.

In the universe of broken mirrors the space was infinite: a duplicated labyrinth of triple nebulas, dark holes and fragmented suns.

In the past of broken mirrors memoirs were distorted, incomplete, multiplied. Reflections of ourselves cut us.

In the forest of broken mirrors, the wind moved the reflections and leaves crashed like crystals: mirror dust under the path of the wind.

In the clouds of broken mirrors, pieces of the world were reflecting.
When it rained, forgotten pieces of ourselves showered us, leaving us damp.

In the sun of broken mirrors storms raise and a thousand fragments reflect the light.
Everything melts and mirrors are formed anew.

In the future of broken mirrors, reflections shine, blinding.
We confuse fragments with precious stones. It is a single light.
Radiant.

In the rainforest of broken mirrors sounds are reflected.
Even at night, with the moonlight, the space is filled with murmurs and green sounds.

In the wind of broken mirrors, reflections howl, become swirls and go mad.
Some winds bring with them the reflections of the desert.

In the present of broken mirrors, fragments disorient us and confuse us.
Reflections divert us. We only hear the rustle under our feet.

In the city of broken mirrors, reflections of success, wealth, failure and pain get confused.
Astounded, reflections don’t move.

In the moon of broken mirrors, the gaze of the lovers and the mad are reflected.
In new moon, the secrets of the tide don’t go back to the sea.

In the body of broken mirrors reflected words run through veins and viscera.

Every now and then, some of them escape from lips and lungs.


miércoles, 18 de marzo de 2015

Everything falls

A star falls, a maybe falls, the sky falls, the present falls.
A memoir falls, the snow falls, a curtain falls, the future falls.
The cold night falls, rain falls, the nevermore falls, the past falls.
The ashes fall, a perhaps falls, the backdrop falls, a tomorrow falls.
Hail falls, a cloud falls, a whatever falls, a now falls.
Midnight falls, the yesterday suddenly falls, the night dew falls, a then falls.
The afternoon falls, a who knows falls, leaves fall, a how late falls.
Mid day falls, a never falls, the pain falls, another future falls.
A tear falls, joy falls, coldness falls, all together falls.
A gaze falls, the remorse falls, a forever falls, an again falls.

Softly falls, abruptly falls, slowly falls, falls at last.


miércoles, 11 de marzo de 2015

It is

It is the river that runs across the bottom of the sea of dreams,
the agony that drills the rock,
the doubt,
the breath held,
the waiting.
It is the waiting.

It is the joyful water of the river,
the honey,
the cotton candy,
the clouds traveling light across the sky,
the sweet that does not scald.
It is everything that is sweet.

It is the time that stretches,
the future that will never end,
it is everything that was,
what it will be,
what it will never be again.
It is the eternal time.

It is the wound open to the pain of salt,
the doubt,
the nights
and the insomnia,
it is the fear that runs through the skin,
the hopelessness.
It is the agony.

It is a row of days that you have counted ever since the beginning,
it is all the nights,
all the words,
repeated in the silence.
It is the persistence.

It is a tongue running across your territory,
It is the tip of your fingers signaling a path.
It is the fruit open to the bite.
It is the sex.

It is a colony of ants flowing through your veins,
it is the perfect second that stretches.
It is the ecstasy.

It is the dream you wake up to feeling the night’s gaze,
it is the moon’s suspicion,
the wind of darkness in your guts.

It is a dream.


miércoles, 4 de marzo de 2015

Sangre

Un río flota dentro de mí,
sube y baja,
pesado y ligero,
a gritos y en silencio,
resuena y fluye.
Escucha:
el rojo río quiere salirse de su cauce.

Un río esta escurriendo en aquella esquina,
puedes oír su gotear por la noche
si pegas tu oído sobre mi pecho
o si nadas en la oscuridad.

Un pequeño arroyo corre
por las grietas de la ciudad,
pulsando.
Todos ignoran su presencia
y su olor a sangre.
El arroyo continúa con su palpitar.

Un listón férrico y espeso
sale de cada uno de nosotros.
Se enrolla alrededor de nosotros
uniéndonos en un abrazo líquido.
Puedes escuchar su sonido de cauce.

En días húmedos,
nuestro vibrante listón rubí
se eleva hacia los huracanes,
tornados y nubes volcánicas.

Brilla y fluye,
se remonta y escurre.

Cuando nos besamos, hierven.
Cuando nos tocamos, susurran.
Cuando nos abrazamos, se mezclan.
Cuando hablamos, fluyen.
Nuestros ríos fluyen.
Juntos.
Profundamente.