Tuesday, 13 August 2013

YOU are beautiful.

Starry Night by Vincent van Gogh

I am. 

My heart. My mind. My actions. 

And I always try to make it all good 

and beautiful. 

Not that I always succeed, but... 

I am beautiful. 

YOU are beautiful. 

And it's love what reveals us, 

in the wide mirror and spirals 

of the spectral universe, 

dancing, whirling around us, 

with all its possible meanings. 

(written on 12.08.2013, another night of the Perseids)

Sunday, 7 April 2013

Calla ya (versos para tango)

Calla ya,
no digas más,
lo sé,
entre nos no habrá más lunas
ni rocíos de mañana.

Calla, calla y bésame
encalla tus labios 
en mis ancianas ansias.

Calla la penosa tormenta
que anunció tu adiós
cuando apenas esbocé tu nombre
en la proa latiente
de mi alma rebosada.

Calla ya,
y besa mi ternura
que se quiebra en versos
y sin quererlo,
ya te extraña.

Date prisa y bésame
que ya llega el ayer galopando 
con su equipaje de nostalgias,
desbocado en la honda pena,
en la honda pena 
de mis desnudas lágrimas.

Calla ya, no digas más.
y calla.

Calla y besa mi tristeza,
acaricia este asombro
que recién nace 
y así no más,
persigue tus libres huellas

a rienda suelta,
a rienda suelta.

[Cómo sería cantar este poema a ritmo de esta melodía?]

Sunday, 31 March 2013


Whether you like it or not,
I have the right to admire you.

Whether you wish it or not,
I have the right to want you.

Whether you love me or not,
I have the right to adore you.

I dare you.

You see, I carry no gun,
so dare come forward
and punch me, damn!
Dare to punch it all!

Nevermind my pain or loss,
I'll stroke your rage
and empty your lonesomeness.
I'll suck it all up until you blossom,

like a baby being born
right into my loving arms.

[Inspired by Kurt Cobain and Nirvana's album 'Nevermind'].

Sunday, 24 March 2013

The toothbrush (for J. ).

My Toothbrush, by Amapola Blooming


It was nearly midnight while I was brushing my teeth when I noticed another remain of your presence. The bright pink towel I left out for you laid on the edges of the bathtub still unfolded. The traveling toothbrush I unpacked for you this morning was resting on the sink with its damped cap covering its hard, cheap bristles.


I recalled how it was to wake up with you in an unusually freezing morning in early spring. We lingered in bed and you touched me patiently until I moaned and was ready to curl up against you again. It had been a while since I had  someone feel my morning dew, and you knew it.

“Natural, easy chemistry” I thought, as the foam increased inside my mouth, tickling my tongue and the inner edges of my lips. I washed away the tingly froth with lukewarm water, gargling the green freshness of Sensodyne Mint

I cleaned my worn toothbrush under the running tap, then firmly stroke my right thumb over the bent bristles, letting tiny sparks of water disperse over the sink. 


It was when I was placing my toothbrush back in the ceramic cup, that I noticed yours again. I played with the idea of keeping it next to mine, until you stayed another night. 

Holding your toothbrush in my hand I wondered: when will you give me a sign that you cherish what we just shared? It had been ten hours since the last time I kissed you goodbye, and I wished to hear from you before going to bed. 


I hesitated, and resisted the impulse to place our toothbrushes tête-à-tête. I pondered for a second whether I should throw both of them away or not. After all, it is time for mine to be replaced. I placed your toothbrush below the sink. It now lies next to my many other toiletries. I don’t know until when.

I looked into the mirror while drying my chin and lips with my hand towel.  Leaving behind my reflection, I shut off the light and left the bathroom.


“Que sea eterno mientras dure.” I mumbled in Spanish as I climbed the stairs to my bedroom, quoting my favourite phrase from Nicaraguan poet Gioconda Belli (“let it be eternal while it lasts”).

Outside, the cold wind played with the wooden chimes in my patio and church bells announced the third midnight of spring. 

Saturday, 23 March 2013


Tear, by Amapola Blooming (Made with Scribblertoo)

These are the colours of my loving sadness.

This is what loving sadness sounds like to me.

Every time I kiss you away,

your frail touch lingers with me.

Like a blue violin. Like a blue violin,

an aching bow strokes my skin.

Like a blue violin in this violent silence,

echoing oblivion,

caressing my defeat.

Thursday, 21 February 2013

Pétalo a pétalo.

Como carmín incandescente
brotan tus ansias de flor
en mis tímidos labios.
Labios trémulos, impacientes,
que al cálido roce de los tuyos,
sin vacilar, repentinamente,
se desdoblan,
desdunándose casi sin pudor
al ritmo dulce y meloso
de este largo beso que aún te espera
noche tras noche,
pétalo a pétalo.

For an English version, click here.

Tuesday, 19 February 2013

There's this passage. There's this splendor.

There's this passage that I must pass:

There are stones, there are trees,

there's a river, and mountains to marvel at.

My pilgrimage has just begun,

under an ever changing, faithful sky.

There's this passage that I must unravel:

There are clouds, there are storms,

there's the sun and stars to marvel at.

There's this splendor that I must discover,

but not without you, not without us.

Please walk with me, walk with me

and just hold my hand.