Through the Window of Life

The window at a hotel somewhere... dawn or sunset, every beginning has an end, and viceversa.
 

 

Beautiful spring blossoms looking out to...

 

 A second later after my previous pic, surprisingly, the flowers gave birth to an ant...

  

 And this could be us in just a few seconds from now...

You can buy these and put them on your son's gravestone... his name was Daniel, he was only nine years old.

 But I believe there will always be spring to watch over us.

 

 and make us spark, even after we are long gone.

Life and death, ying-yang... halves of a same equation.

 

 

 "Lee, our braveheart". I never met him. He was only nineteen.

 

and Michelle was his girlfriend... (a close-up the heart of the previous picture).

 

  

A lot has been buried, except love.

 

 The spark on the gravestone is the reflection of the sun - I love how it connects to pointing chime, and to the coloured balls and the fairy and the leaves above.  Everything, living or dead, is interconnected.

Another bright spark resulting from the reflecting sun- it seems to reflect on the light of the flowers hanging above while giving light to the pink flowers below. At the back, there are angels and faith everywhere.
 

The sun, above everything!

Any would do

A tender kiss,
a meaningful letter, 
a caring moment,
a long love story.

Any would do,
always.

What's love got to do with us?

What's love got to do with us?  | The desire to be desired, the hunger? | The impatient egoes that get in the way? | Our fabricated insecurities? | Being afraid to speak freshly, lovingly, kindly? | The common failures in our individual stories? | The fear to be in pain again? | The annoying "ifs" that never happened? | The thirst for connection and youthful passion? | The tongue-biting silence that keeps us lying? | The invented excuses to delay togetherness? | The hidden dreams? | The rational focus on sex, the blissful pleasure? | Losing our deceiving freedom, our stubborn claims of not being ready? | What's love got to do with it all, but haunt us? | If we don't surrrender to it, that is.

AMAPOLA (Andrea Bocelli)

Click on the link:

A beautiful song about AMAPOLA

Spring

 

Amapola Blooming, self-portrait

Shedding my old skin,

undressing the past of my eyes,

stripteasing the unknown, 

beckoning better times:

 My love is blossoming!

No wonder

 Eye of time, by Salvador Dalí

My pupils are bursting

with vivid memories,

of sleepless silences

and lavish loud poetry;

with thrilling images

of your eyes in ecstasy,

piercingly mirroring my lust,

carving into mine like hungry knives;

my pupils are bursting,

with flashes of naughty laughter

and graffitis of swearing words

as I ride my love on you,

willingly, rebelliously;

my pupils are bursting,

with haunting memories

of this restless human craving 

and my fearless animal loving.

No wonder I cannot sleep.

Silent Love

I want to baptise my skin

and give it a new name;

a name after my blossoming petals

and your burning fingerprints

as your summer breaks into my spring.

I want to wash my nakedness

and give it a fresh smell;

a smell after your restless breath

and the sea waves of your lips on my lips

as my ecstasy echoes in the wind.

I want to ink my skin

with her new name;

a skin named after our rythmic hips,
our silent whispers,

and a love that simply dances, but dare not speak.

Lovers, by Henri Cartier-Bresson

Untitled

 Smiling Angel Gabriel, in the cathedral of Reims, France (13th century)

Original image source: www.champagne-mante.com/Nouvelle-traduction-The-Cathedral 
(imaged altered with www.photofunia.com)

Oh, how I love the flair

of your gorgeus imperfections

and your unarming, honest smile!

You know?

 Marilyn Manson

You like to mock me
because I rock.

You want to fuck me
because I trust.

You like to taunt me
because I stunt.

You want to taint me
because I glow.

You like to knock me
because I love.

You want to break me
because you lost.

How sad.
You could be happy too,

you know?

Tulips and my silence (visual essay for romantic flower lovers)

 

All photos and self-portraits are made by Amapola Blooming. 

The muscle of my love

 

 Presentimiento, from the series Vanitas by Fernando Vicente 
www.fernandovicente.es

In the kindest embrace

and the saddest letting go,

the muscle of my love

longs for touching you

as it hopes to be touched by yours

and stay strong and flexible.

Through between the rusty bars

of the darkest prison,

the fingers of my love

yearn to caress your cheeks

and reach your hands

even for the faintest instant.

The muscle of my love

awakes and reaches out,

stretching its open arms,

languishing to hold you firmly,

to wrap you gently, to feel you softly

in the feeblest of the nights.

Like a dancer who can’t speak

of the future or of the past,

my love for you moves about;

at times clumsily, at times graciously,

as the muscle of my love sings freedom

at the mere thought of your bare beauty.

About lonesome love and other distances

  Winter Sunrise, Sierra Nevada, from Lone Pine, California, by Ansel Adams.

Here I am again:
another still silhouette 
standing helplessly 
among the edges 
of the highest margins.
between clustered clouds 
and vast horizons 
of distant, rising valleys.  

Holding the torch 
of my childish heart 
the unarmoured echo 
of my stubborn words 
gallops loudly. 

Squalling in protest, 
my broken voice 
strides relentlessly 
in resilient, resonant rallies:  

Why don't you?  
Why don't you dare, my love?
Why?

Farewell

 

Dali Ruby Lips source:  www.rdujour.com

When my eyes won't shed a tear
as they silently scream my sadness;

when my lips won't tremble

as they battle my sobbing, bitingly quiet,

then you'll know

that my heart is aching

and desperately fighting

to be the strongest in the longest day

as I wave you farewell

for ever, my love, for ever.

Strength

Every backlash in life is a golden opportunity to rediscover our strength and passionately enact our principles.

To the aching child in me

The Egg by Salvador Dalí

It will all be OK, my baby 

I know how much you're hurting  

But your heart is big and strong, 

like the sea, like the sun 

and you're so beautiful.

On the edges of love

Here's the image:

You and I standing
on the fragile edges of love,
I on yours, you on mine,
arms wide open and ready
to unfold our hovering wings,
capriciously teasing the gusts
and the wheezy tender breeze.

Icarus by Henry Matisse

The question is whether or not

we'll  still be facing other

and if then, without faltering,

together we'll jump into the abyss

and dance to the laughing wind

very softly, and so damn closely

even if it's just for a little while.

Love lullaby

Under the dimmed moon,
the spark of your bright eyes,
lighting up my dreams
as I close mine.

Chagall 'Lovers with Half Moon, 1926

In style

 (Shoe by Christian Louboutin)

I want those glittery shoes 

with skyscraper heels 

and thick platforms.

 I also want to walk in them 

smoothly and gracefully, 

just like Jesus did

on wavy waters.

Amen.

The itch of exhaustion

Definition:

When you realise that still there are
so many great things to do,
but you're anxious and exhausted

and your inner flame is gradually fading
after spending too much time doing things
that made you itchy and feel not as great,

only if...


But if you happen to feel the itch of exhaustion,
grab the chance! let it pierce your heart
and be kind to it, don't fear it, listen to it

because it's telling you that it's time
to live again, to create a star from candlelight,
that same star you always wanted to become,

no matter how big or distant,
or simple and humble,
you'll always shine on,

but only if
you remain true
to your real passion.

So close to happiness (with very little effort)

If only we lived constantly
in the flow of this truth:
that we're far away from being perfect

and so close to happiness!

If only we could forgive 
without any doubt
everything can make sense 

with very little effort.

Funny little speech (reflection on the truth & written very, very humbly)

 What was that shit-whole something all about?

What’s the purpose of it if not to honour the truth in hilarious ways? Why would i speak to all of you with false words and white lies when i know that my little speech could lift or break your spirits? or simply put you to sleep? Why would i be false instead of telling you of the intention of my silly words, which is wholesome, even when i fail to make bloody clear what some whole shit is all about?

Forgive me if I curse, I fucking don’t mean it. Forgive me if I forget to acknowledge your ‘little self’ when I get distracted by my ample ego. Forgive me if you expected me to entertain you like a stand-up comedian, but fuck it! I won't. And this is the simple truth: 'me sucks at jokes, even at cleverly ones'. 

Now

There's no before, there's no after... NOW is the only eternal state of liberation.

Winter romance

No, it’s not the cold outside,

but the warmth in your eyes

that makes my lips tremble;

and I still long for another kiss,

this time with no lies, no ties,

without labels.

Like a magic spell

in this sudden fable,

I confess,

I surrender,

this time I suspect

love is inescapable.

In a maze of doubts,

and haunting shadows

the temple of freedom

patiently awaits us,

as we slowly walk

through icy streets,

holding hands, firmly, tightly,

with smiling hearts

and a world of dreams ahead of us.

Sweet stranger

Fist against my heart

and a long, deep humble bow

for you, sweet stranger.

Home (to Leonie & Adam, and to you as well).

Our home,

it’s not out there

it’s not in the promise

of lucky numbers

or of random lottery tickets,

nor in the pretty words

of a skillful house seller.

Our home is not made

of the things that we own

under the roof

and between the bricks

that we share,

it's not in the things

that we bought for each other,

nor in all the money

that we can save or spare.

Our home is under the sun

and in those five lines

we drew as children;

it's in the loving shelter 

we then offered

to our imaginary friend,

and to the lost pet

we once found and kept,

hoping to never part ways.

My home is with you,

and yours is with me,

my family, my comrade,

my neighbour, my lover;

and with you too, 

kind stranger.

Even if we had to spend

long nights under a cold bridge

or if we fell asleep

under an ancient tree,

our home is in us,

mine in you, yours in me,

as we rest safely

in each other’s arms.

'Aspirante equilibrista' (To Elenia, who inspired the title and the thought).

If in order to test your sense of equilibrium you would walk on a long high cable hung between two skycrapers, don't look down: the harmony and beauty of chaos will leave you in awe and you might as well feel like jumping.

The path is now

My death will not be long enough to give sufficient rest to the sufferings I’ve had in this life.   Before a new day breaks in or an old day fades away, I will be in the seed that soon anounces the birth of a baby boy or a baby girl.  Again, I will get another chance to learn from old sorrows, and to seek and find true happiness throughout the endless line of life.  But before dying this time and crawling again some day, I’d better make sure  that I sketch my future path graciously and righteously;  now when I can still walk firmly, with clear eyes and loving hands, and a heart full of faith.

To my very soul mate, wherever you might be -

A thousand lives back,

the silence of which I speak

has always, always loved you.

A million blue moons ahead of now

undoubtely, I will,

I will always love you.

Even at this moment,

when I still might not know 

the shape of your lips;

even when I still

might not have heard

the sound of your name,

my love is not at all still!

It beats for you in silence

and misses you warmingly,

my love, my very soul mate

wherever you might be.

En la Casa de la Cui'tura (inspirado en el Mae'tro Cabral, QEPD) - (With English translation)

Con la lengua ardiente como un dragón,
ebrio de barato vino tinto,
escupiendo a quemaduras,
gritaba el Mae'tro Cabral:
A mí no me manden a callai', COñO,
que la poesía se hizo PA'BLAI'LA!

In the House of Culture (inspired in the  'Master Cabral' RIP)

With his tongue hot as a dragon,
drunk on cheap red wine,
spitting burning fire,
Mae'tro Cabral shouted:

Don't tell me to shut up, COñO,
that poetry was made to be SPOKEN OUT LOUD!

Haiku voor de mist (with English translation). Also for Wendy.

Wat zoek jij? vroeg hij, | de blinde die alles ziet | met zijn bloot gevoel.

 

What do you seek? he asked, | the blind who sees all | with his bare feeling

Welcoming winter (double haiku, and a single poem). For Wendy, who triggered the inspiration.

The mist ahead chills | every effort of sight. | My eyes close in faith, | as i walk the path, | fearless of the blind future, | i beckon the clouds.

Para Patricia Pereryra - la artista dominicana que más adoro (with English translation)

Eres diosa humana,

diosa de poesía, de canto.

Y cuando hablas, tu voz recoge

el aliento de ultratumbas,

el cual sin esfuerzo respiras

dándole cobijo 

en tu profunda garganta.

Y entonces,

cuando cantas, diosa humana

el universo revela

lo que aún no sabía cierto

En sus entrañas;

y en las tuyas

se engendra en unísono,

otra canción de esperanza,

la cual persigo

con este simple poema,

anhelando escuchar tu parto

de melodías infinitas,

otra y otra vez.

(si quieres escuchar a Patricia, pulsa en este enlace  Patricia Pereyra, cantando El Mandala).

You are a human goddess,
goddess of poetry, of chanting.
And when you speak, your voice gathers
the breath beyond the graves,
which you breathe effortlessly
giving it shelter
in the depths of your throat.

And then
when you sing, human goddess
the universe reveals
what it still did not know was certain.

In her womb;
and in yours
in unison,
another song of hope is conceived,
which I pursue
with this simple poem,
longing to hear you giving birth
to infinite melodies,

over and over again.

If you want to listen to Patricia, the Dominican artist I adore the most, click on this link Patricia Pereyra singing El Mandala

 

Gratitude (to my family, friends, teachers and kind strangers... you are the nightingales in my life)

The Nightingale and the Rose
(Image by http://pjlynchgallery.blogspot.com)

That freezing night, one of the many that I've felt hopeless and lonesome, I let my doors wide open as if wanting the wind to blow me out of my world and dissolve my tears in faraway mists.

But instead of the wind, that same night, as if seeking shelter, a flock of birds flew into the wide room of my cold, trembling silence. One by one, they approached me and with their tiny peaks, they pierced my chest with hungry kindness.  Hungry for my aching love, for the sour nectar of my sadness, they perched my heart and drank the thirst of my solitude, of my abandonment.

And they sang and perched, and they perched and sang my song of hollow regrets and ancient sorrows.  With each note, they gently hushed the laments of my cracking voice.  And touch after touch after touch, the silence became all wings until it was not painful anymore.

That long night I made a promise to honour and not to taint the echo and the tunes of the breeze that carry the melodies of compassionate nightingales, who selflessly offered me their loving thirst to help me mend my broken dreams.  And ever since,  when I hear their harmonious notes,  my chest grows and blossoms into hundreds of splendorous roses, willingly offering to be perched once again.

Tonight, doors wide open, I stand fearless as I wave to the chilled blows of the passing wind.  I invite the nightingales in, so they can drink from the sweet and pouring gratitude of my garden, and find a home in the loving embrace of new-born red petals.

(This note has been inspired by the teachings of the Dharma and by Oscar Wilde's "The Nightingale and the Rose", but when searching for a suitable image, I learned that Florence Nightingale is the woman who is the mother of modern nursery and was a very caring person.  It is a beautiful coincidence!).

Beauty!

Beauty! 

anchored in my hungry eyes

and the bliss of life 

dancing around me, 

like a baby discovering music 

for the very first time.

Y es por eso que no desespero

La vida sigue, amor
como el amanecer que descansa
en la soñolienta y cariñosa noche;
como el ocaso que despierta
bajo la luz tierna e inquieta
de un nuevo sol.

La vida sigue, amor,
porque cada ilusión de finales
es un claro destello
de esperanza parida
por el incansable génesis
que preñado de desnudos
y hambrientos universos,

nos invita a descubrirlo.

Spiritual Reflection on Suicide and Re-encarnation (for those whom I knew, but left life by their own means)

"If in that one conversation I had with you, we had talked about suicide, this is what I would have told you that I had learned so far, now wishing that I knew then of your terrible suffering:

To rob your own life is a  lost opportunity to practice gratitude and compassion for those who have loved you, even if you never knew of their intended kindness. To offer your life for the happiness of others is the ultimate selflessness, but not when you lose your own battle against hope. 

To honour life is, for both situations, the middle way, the only way.  

If only you came to this realisation, your path to happiness would not be as harsh as you think it is when you consider suicide.  And if by misfortunes you fail into the delusion of self-hate and helplessness, but the fountain of your love and the pureness of  your intention are greater,  the greater is the chance for you to get to unfold and cultivate this truth as a higher being, in future lives.

And this is what I tell you my neighbour, my love, my friend, now that you have walked this terrible patch:   No, it's not too late for this conversation:  nobody judges you or blames you, somewhere, just now, life is welcoming again the blessing of your pure and genuine heart.  And this time, I pray for your happiness, that in your new rebirth you will be able to love and forgive all your demons.  I chant for you to glow once more, this time like a star that shines with bliss and never vanishes, even in the cloudiest  night.

With these words, I close my eyes and imagine myself warmly holding a new-born baby, as if she or he was mine".

Ineens, was het zó duidelijk (voor Jerry)

Ik praat (en praat).
Met volle aandacht,
je luistert.
Je lacht  zo mooi,
zo openhartig.
Stralend van echtheid
je vertelt, ik onderbreek,
ik luister.
En zo gaan wij door,
ontdekking na ontdekking,
op zoek naar schoonheid
onder de verre sterren.

To Antonie Kamerling, RIP

Now that you're willingly gone, your words, which I will never forget, make more sense than ever:

"Once in the top of the mountain, there is this emptiness, this fear of falling or failing.  And then you have to start all over again".


I wish you a safe rebirth, full of clarity and a longer & healthier new life.

Ode to the sea as I know it

Tall waves fall and raise,

riding the ocean calmness.

With sunk hurricanes,

searching for far shores,

as they gallop randomly,

they find destiny.

With soft diamond foam,

long streaks of sand kiss the tide

waltzing endlessly,

with wide open arms,

tenderly embracing fate

and the frail moonlight,

they dance with the wind

and wave a rose to the sky,

while reefs watch and praise

their sensuous moves

in every splashing touch

of loving  wet salt.

Sin título

Deja que el silencio te cuente
cómo te visité en tus sueños,
cual fugitiva diosa del ocaso
suplicando albergue
en las suaves almohadas
de tu pecho, de tus brazos.

Deja que la noche te cuente
las palabras que susurré
al buscar mi piel en la tuya,
refugiándome friolenta
en el imaginado abrigo
de tus tiernas y cálidas manos.

Deja que el amanecer te cuente
que no dormiste solitario,
que los plieques de tu lecho
guardan mi aroma
cual perfume de locuras,
de pétalos desparramados.

Y si no me crees, deja entonces
que las calles te cuenten
como por ti, trémula, callo
cuando en cada imagen tuya
lamo con besos
el ancla de tu fugaz mirada.

Deja que el universo te cuente
cómo clavaste la luz de tu sol
en el fondo de mis soledades
dejándome perpleja de amor,
iluminando aquel sagrado rincón
donde aún habitan mis ansias

 de encontrarte en la distancia,

algún día, alguna vez.

Dharma, like the wind

The breeze, the eagles,
without you, they drop backwards
or lose firm balance.

Like an old sailor
or a child and her first kite,
we praise your teachings.

In our own prison,
without you, we cannot sing
true songs of freedom.

You hold our faint words,
our stories of old sorrows
as we search for wings.

In the middle of the storm,
with you, we fly in stillness
as we chant and breathe.

Free from fear to fall,
completely silent, we drift,
we let it all be as it is.

In vast deep skies,
with you, our holy gift, our path,
we travel through the clouds

to where all is transparent

and free.

Autumn, at last

It is over, now
over the fields, moisture dwells
on dry summer leaves.

Just by...

As long as we live
in selfless kindness, we give 
just by existing.

If only we chose to see

In my world, to see

is my personal motto;

and love, the wide path

to vanish sadness

or the desire to reclaim

what was never ours:

Ideas of perfect

just as we wish to have it,

despising its flaws,

clinging to our need

to make it all work our way,

ignoring virtues

that hide because we deny

the beauty of life,

simply as it is.

Inception (of the mind), inspired by the movie

Meditation dreams,
death of what is real, or fake
when we reach limbo:
the viral regret
and the sour, stabbing neglect
pleading to let go.

And then, we rise up
in absolute dark blankness
where nightmares simply crack
at the sound of a chimeb
and two snapping fingers
announcing Buddha,

the awaken one.

Autumn

Gold! it will all be,
the sinking sun, the quiet pond
and the musty leaves.

On Equinox day

Fullmoon rain falls loose,

soulmating in loneliness 

with the dreamy night.

Broken storm (haiku)

Waterfalls of light
filter through the guarding clouds,
blessing restless waves.

Equinox (Haiku)

Fall leaves, falling free.
Deep honey lights chant and leak
through the sleepy mist.

Nirvana (with English translation)

"No, no sé nada"
dice la luz, hambrienta
de sol vacío.

"No, I know nothing"

says the craving light, hungry

for an empty sun.

The pursuit of...?

Men made man greedy:

egos as empty balloons

floating aimlessly.

Haiku of hope for the lonely

Split in syllables,
lonesome street songs cry and mend
my broken love dreams.

Haiku for The Hague

Hush, hush, The Hague speaks.
Powdery rain pours over
creaking steamy streets.

Farewell to the summer

Weeping willow trees,
a coffin, crushed leaves
in cracking stillness.

Little prayer for stray dreams

 Nyx, goddess of the night, William-Adolphe Bouguereau – La Nuit (1883)

Lullaby after lullaby,  the graceful gods of the silence whisper the nightly songs of the ebony angels. Like gracious tempting shadows, mysterious stray dreams dance and tease the raven feathers of my tired eyes.  As if longing for shelter, the goddess Nox softly squeezes herself into my velvet pupils and I have no other choice but to surrender to her blank blanket of darkness. And I embrace her lovingly, with the faith that in a fraction of a second, someone, somewhere, won't shed a drop of blood or sorrow, nor a tear of fear. 

 

No more.

Y entonces

Y entonces,

andaré desnuda por el mundo,

ofreciendo mis manos,

mi nombre, mi hambre,

mis pómulos demacrados,

mis sueños arrugados,

mi corazón encadenado,

mi cobija de lluvia, 

mis pies hinchados,

regalándome toda,

cual harapiento mendigo,

repleta de amor y hueca de mimos.

Y entonces,

rodaré desnuda por el mundo,

ofreciendo todo, todo lo mío,

a cambio del vacío, de lo inasible,

que flotando me huele,

me lame los ojos, me respira los poros,

durmiéndome el dolor, calmando lo seco,

levantándome sobre caminos ligeros,

enseñándome  a primos pasos,

en soplos de canto y de sonrisas,

a desandar sin miedo,

el mudo destino.

En cada beso sin promesa

Anoche soñé contigo,

con las perlas de tu sonrisa

derretidas al borde de mis labios,

con la sin razón de tu lengua

desbordándose ansiosa

en el húmedo albergue de mis locuras, 

de mis amorosas soledades

sedientas de mi en ti.

Anoche soñé contigo,

con el verbo de tu aliento

engendrando meteoritos de miel y celo

en el cielo inhabitado de mi boca,

pariendo delirios a borbotones,

sembrando sin resistencia

trémulas y frágiles palabras 

de amor lejano, 

en cada beso sin promesa.

Dear, dear DR, I miss you

My island,
my island is not imagined.

Like the African drums
of the last freed slave,
like the new-born eyes
of the first mestizo
and the ailing sigh
of the last taino child
she beats and dances
she cries freedom,
calling me Amapola, Manuela,  
mi hermana, mi hija.

My island,
my island is not imagined.

With that same frantic echo
which was suddenly born
on the same day we parted ways,
she beckons me and captures me,
whispering infant memories,
holding me in her pregnancy,
taking me to her Caribbean sun,
drowning me in the depths
of her loving Atlantic breath.

My island,
my island is not imagined.

She speaks with clarity,
assuring me in a rapture
that she is as real as my own mother,
as my own voice, as my own flesh
as I dream and dream of her promise,
as I sail with an open rose in my hands
to the magic treasure awaiting for me
within the foamy softness
of her divine golden shores.

Untitled.

My dreams, they beckon me.
With my silent eyes, I listen
to their childhood memories,
to their infallible promise
of a blossoming future
rising, always rising
like a sprouting sun.

Hope

When the pouring tears 

wash away the clouds 

and stop as they welcome

the fresh blue sky,

hope is the window

that allows us 

to be present,

and see it all unfold

like the simple magic 

of a new day.

 

 

Ontwaken / Awakening

Nog een nare droom
en dan ben ik echt klaar mee
wanneer ik wakker word, nu!

Another nasty dream

and then I'm really done with it

when I awake, now!

On love, after being in love.

Sometimes love might seem not enough, 

simply because we fail to see 

that love is everything,

in everything,

always.

Ahora (see free English translation below)

 Oh! ser y estar!
justo en el presente,
sin temor, con fe.

 _____________________________

Now

To be and to be!

oh! just now, in the present,

without fear, with faith

Summer night

The church bells ring once
The soft night heat blows sweetly
Dreams crawl on my bed

Mango

mango, luscious, delicious, sensuous mango,

your kisses in my tongue.

Image source: bhagya.files.wordpress.com/2007/10/mango.jpg

Insanity

How can i explain
there is no relief
for this latent pain
which eases when i cry
and returns when i smile
it’s all fucked up inside
it feels like a vice
denying happiness
to my beatless heart

I feel this violence
breaking me, it bounces
when i feel your absence
hitting me back
crushing my senses
killing my defenses
it’s all so senseless
i crack like a wrack
i long for your presence
my love’s been sacked

It’s so intrusive
and so abusive
i feel delusive
it’s so reclusive
when you’re elusive
to be exclusive
when you’re decisive
to keep us apart

How can i explain
i know no way
to pack my feelings
and get away
i can only stray
i know it’s in vain
to ask you back
to beg you to stay

It’s driving me insane
i drain in your disdain
when i feel your essence
chained to my veins

How can i explain
there is no relief
for this latent grief
which eases when i scream
and returns when i sleep

it’s all messed up indeed

it feels like a creed
to live by your greed
i don’t cease to bleed
please hear my plea

free me from this need

It’s so fucked up
to carry this weight
there is no escape
this is my fate
to be your prisoner

I feel my decay

Poema lanzado a la eternidad virtual

Plasma : Materia gaseosa fuertemente ionizada, con igual número de cargas libres positivas y negativas. Es el estado de la materia más abundante en el universo (diccionario de la Real Academia Española de la Lengua).

Atravesando este plasma infalible
oh, tu dentadura a flor de sonrisa
cuando te miro y tú me miras
enamorándome con tus pupilas
y tus juguetonas manos
que me tocan toda a través de las mías

a pesar de esta triste lejanía

en el silencio que nos asalta
cuando se nos preñan los labios
de versos, de remotos besos
que como savia divina se entierran
en tus entrañas y en las mías,
brotando luego como rocío de anhelos,

mojando la frágil soledad

en el aleteo de tu eco
cuando tu dulce voz se pierde a gritos
como recia lluvia que viaja y emigra
habitándome de ti, en mi desnudo epicentro,
colmándome con tu hambre,
con tu fuente a cántaros, con tu grave canto,

cual sedienta y abandonada tierra

a bocanadas de amor embriagante,
gimiendo en tus delicias,
a tí, solo a tí, en puro temblor,
sin temor, me lanzo y me entrego
hasta que el efímero encuentro
nos engendre y nos separe,

tiernamente, alguna vez.