lunes, junio 18, 2007

Other names

Now, suddenly, other names

whisper in my mind, murmur,

as the water of a river nobody certainly knows,

the portrait of the same shadowiness


this night,

the same night I once saw from home,

new words name the unreachable

diminutive flowers of fire

who tremblingly blossom in the highs

I slowly, fearfully pronounce it

and I can not stop feeling

the fragileness of everything I know

the fragileness of the signs my mother once lovely taught me

we have lost

we have forgotten the meaning of the first fire

and now the glyphs of our ancestors

are vanishing in their own muteness

everything happen repeatedly

everything will happen until the end of the time

said the poet

and something like a tiny, slow dust also begun covering his words

at the end nothing will remain

nor a single word

nor a stone over stone

but I am trying to talk about this night of sadness


and now I can say that as the bright moon cross the nocturnal highs,

below her,

the hidden seeds and the buried bones of my grandparents

continue indolently sleeping under the earth

without being disturbed

for this kind of inoffensive thoughts

I know

this is the sad night I once saw from home,

but now I can smell another peel over the surface of everything

and I am aware of the unmovable

deeply nature of things

who is beating from its very inside

I am the foreign one

I said

and all my words,

just a full fit of dust and symbols,

are silenced in the wind


Blogger venecia said...

Abrazo tus poemas. Te extraño (Una charla, un cigarro, un cafesito, una pequeña flor de wirolamo).

7:53 a.m.  
Blogger Sergio said...

k tul!
esha sha hasta escribe sus versitos en inglish!
me desajtesss en cho-chock!

8:49 a.m.  
Anonymous Joel Flores said...

bor, usted dice en dos palabras lo que intenté decir en dos o tres cuentos, un abrazo.

10:03 p.m.  
Blogger Pio Daniel said...

bro, the soul
the spirit
the roots
the flow
that means
your walk

en la flor palabra y con ella vamos dando tumbos a la tirisia

omar a la mar amar va
desé un abrazo por mi tipo rebel pollo.

y como dice la vene se le extraña con una charla, un caguamon, un toqueson y la literatura de la vida no escrita.

9:42 a.m.  
Anonymous Anónimo said...

jajajajajajaja. excelente commentario. señor pasandolo a saludar. Tenia algun tiempo sin visitarlo. prefiero las letras cuando hacen español :( buu.
en fin

1:54 a.m.  
Blogger mar adentro said...

Yo quisiera estar contigo en noches como esa, para hablar de nada y de todo.
Abrazos calurosos

8:57 p.m.  
Blogger ocupaciones secretas said...

lo que he entendido es poco, pero un aire sin nombre mueve el follaje de los árboles afuera. esa breve sonaja es como tus poemas saudadosos. también tengo ganas de charlar torpemente con usted sobre tanta cosa. un abrazo.

3:16 p.m.  

Publicar un comentario

<< Home