Oh, they’re gone.
Time wasted,
Time left,
None around.
A lonely tree waiting for rain.
Etiqueta: poem
First I draw.
Second I think:
What else do I need?
A spell, I say.
Cats on top of his list.
I’m a single parent in need.
English for proton’s sake.
Otherwise, how do you speak?
Handy and fun,
Tall and lean…
Slanted black eyes, yes sir.
Honest and lively.
A man in the house[1]?
I back a bit on my needs.
Still. It’s time to be tamed.
Dear fox, I’m not a prince.
Princess? Not in a million years!
Plainly a witch.
Do you mind to be charmed?
[1] Fiction again… I don’t need a man, either in the house or wherever.
Around they say:
Get a man,
Get a sir,
Get a night of one sky.
I myself ain’t light,
Neither star nor moon.
Mostly a moth,
Dazzled by the dream of life.
Unbeloved to anyone.
Still my own house.
Composing a song I’ll sing alone.
I can’t help it.
I can’t get charmed by promises of relieved pain.
My word is mine and mine alone.
Are you coming to rescue me?
Forget it.
I saved myself to become beloved to no one.
I’ll be happy with any attempt …
just so like you….
Come on,
are you taking break from work today?
Do you want to come and play?
are you drawing,
picturing my best smile inside of you?
I was not going to cry,
but you were the longed one desire.
In my inner… inner sight,
before I realized,
ahead in time I was lost in such.., despair.
Oh, it was misspelled!
For shall I say… crave?
It took too much effort and time,
so now,
I’ll be happy with any attempt from you….
from you
Let us play with blue and red,
let us paint the bed with love .
Do you want to come and drink my life?
I’ll be happy with any attempt …
just so like you….
We used water colors
to paint this blurred night in pants of sighed wishes.
Then, a black pen to sketch my mouth in yours,
do you want to come and drink my life?
Is it really ok to think about you?
So what if I like you….
does it make me a fool?
Maybe…
maybe,
but what the hell!
I want to try and be a fool…
Desire spreads in breathless seconds,
It is just inequitable,
to say I’m sinking in love.
For it’s just kisses,
randomly popping as I fancy.
Any person,
anybody.
Quietly…anyone around could be…..
wishing to be involved,
anyone, anybody.
A hand on mine,
some light lip brushing,
anytime.
Until the reason chickens,
chickens out.
Since it’s not the same.
My cowardice acknowledges I’m being too much a wuss[1].
Is it too freaky,
to wish for the real?
The one who was chosen, memories ago?
[1] Fiction again…
Slow, slow.
I’ve hurried before.
Avoidant or needy,
I want to change my old self.
I’d love to be steady.
Even if not ready.
Thus letters are better.
A bit dragging my feet,
A bit moving on.
Sometimes it’s not fun.
Lento, lento.
Me apresuré antes.
Seca o encimosa,
Deseo cambiar mi viejo ser.
Ser un poco más constante,
Si es que no estoy lista aún.
Así, las cartas me van bien.
Un poco arrastrando los pies.
Un poco hacia adelante.
A veces, divertido no es.
Whenever I think no more
For it doesn’t come with doubt and yet I hope.
For it is a pleasing sight to know I am.
A slice of life you take out from time.
Specially since you, a freaky freak I know;
would be tucked away under snow.
Can I learn to waltz this life away from you?
Y cada vez que creo que ya no
Llega sin duda y aún así deseo.
Porque es placentero ver que estoy,
Un rato de tu tiempo en tu cerebro.
Especialmente porque tú, un monstruo tierno;
Estaría enterrado bajo nieve.
¿Puedo dejarte solo a pasos de baile?
When it is not on my table,
I look far away.
But once it’s there,
white and squared,
I can’t help my contempt and hate the carrier.
For I wish I wasn’t so lorn of your read, my love.
I expect and spend.
I weave and wait.
My heart a butterfly when I know it’s arrived.
Then, embarrassed,
I think I should leave it to rest.
Si no está sobre la mesa,
Miro más allá.
Una vez en ella,
Blanca y esquinada,
Sin lograrlo,
termino por odiar a quien la trajo.
Tanto espero esa lectura, amor.
Que con expectativas y deseo.
Tejo y espero.
Una mariposa, mi corazón cuando llega.
Luego, avergonzada,
La dejo para otra vez.
Palabras no. 60
Tras las primeras lluvias,
tiernos helechos disfrazados de arbustos.
Con la humedad que viene,
se convierten en un bosque de hechizos rosas, blancos.
Balanceándose en la brisa o con las cosquillas de los canarios.
Olas de mar que impiden llegar más allá ó,
enredesijos enmarañados de jungla.
La carretilla ya la atoré y su contenido…ya ves.
Más enojosos que hermosos.
Aunque también,
una elección muy vibrante,
para un jardín inglés.
Palabras no. 51
Conocemos la vida.
Conocemos la muerte.
Conocemos la vida,
llenando el plato de alguien amado.
Conocemos la muerte cuando el plato que llenamos,
se destina a una boca que se llenará de gusanos.
Conocemos la vida cuando su calor nos conforta,
bajo las mismas sábanas.
Conocemos la muerte cuando ese cuerpo,
ya no podrá confortarnos en invierno.
Conocemos la vida cuando esperamos,
y regresa.
Conocemos la muerte cuando miramos,
y sólo queda el espacio.
Amamos y esperamos,
somos alojados y alimentados.
Damos cobijo y alimentamos.
Damos la bienvenida y regresamos a casa.
Y cuando es necesario,
olvidamos.