El silencio describe lo que nuestras palabras enjauladas no pueden desatar...
la distancia que une los destinos inciertos, titubeantes de nuestras vidas,
los sentimientos ke pese a cualkier cosa nos mantienen vivos, respirando,
y la muerte que circunda nuestros cuartos, revelandonos la realidad.
Las cosas son mejores cuando se disfrutan en silencio
y es que con el tiempo uno aprende que la risa coexiste con el llanto
los fonemas con el descontento y las oraciones con la vanidad
una cosa extrano verdaderamente de hablar
es que no hay otra cosa que me regale motivos ni encantos
la mirada furtiva, evasiva, desafiante y hasta tierna y dulce a veces
ni el nectar prohibido, ese que jamas sera tuyo, en mis labios.
Duele lo que nos une, aun mas que lo que nos separa
tanto que hasta pudiera compararse con castigo, verdugo o hiel.
Sin embargo me fortalece el poder llamarte amigo, hermano
el que tu confesion bendita haya quedado tatuada en mi piel, en mi historia.
Que te sirvas de esta prosa para acordarte de aquella luz
que aun no puediendo ser eterna pudo ser tuya, sincera.
Te extrano
Thursday, October 25, 2007
A Ricardo:
Por que en responderte he tardado tanto?
Un frio inmenso atrapa mi corazon al leer tus palabras,
congela la posibilidad de experimentar otro sentimiento
sino el saberme tuya, ajena a lo que te pertenece
y propia como nadie a quien le he dado mi afecto.
Tu sabes que te quiero con el alma, mas que amigo
pero no de la manera que merecieren tus atenciones
me pesa en cada paso cada verso, tu poesia
que ha invadido mis venas, me envenena el pensamiento.
quisiera poder dedicarte mas que estas pocas palabras
que no son mas que eso, simbologia absurda
sabiendo cuanto te quiero sigo al margen del encanto
por no querer amarte, por no quererte tanto.
Porque duele.
Un frio inmenso atrapa mi corazon al leer tus palabras,
congela la posibilidad de experimentar otro sentimiento
sino el saberme tuya, ajena a lo que te pertenece
y propia como nadie a quien le he dado mi afecto.
Tu sabes que te quiero con el alma, mas que amigo
pero no de la manera que merecieren tus atenciones
me pesa en cada paso cada verso, tu poesia
que ha invadido mis venas, me envenena el pensamiento.
quisiera poder dedicarte mas que estas pocas palabras
que no son mas que eso, simbologia absurda
sabiendo cuanto te quiero sigo al margen del encanto
por no querer amarte, por no quererte tanto.
Porque duele.
Monday, October 15, 2007
Un frio inmenso atrapa mi corazon al leer tus palabras,
congela la posibilidad de experimentar otro sentimiento
sino el saberme tuya, ajena a lo que te pertenece
y propia como nadie a quien le he dado mi afecto.
Tu sabes que te quiero con el alma, mas que amigo
pero no de la manera que merecieren tus atenciones
me pesa en cada paso cada verso, tu poesia
que ha invadido mis venas, me envenena el pensamiento.
quisiera poder dedicarte mas que estas pocas palabras
que no son mas que eso, simbologia absurda
sabiendo cuanto te quiero sigo al margen del encanto
por no querer amarte, por no quererte tanto.
Porque duele.
congela la posibilidad de experimentar otro sentimiento
sino el saberme tuya, ajena a lo que te pertenece
y propia como nadie a quien le he dado mi afecto.
Tu sabes que te quiero con el alma, mas que amigo
pero no de la manera que merecieren tus atenciones
me pesa en cada paso cada verso, tu poesia
que ha invadido mis venas, me envenena el pensamiento.
quisiera poder dedicarte mas que estas pocas palabras
que no son mas que eso, simbologia absurda
sabiendo cuanto te quiero sigo al margen del encanto
por no querer amarte, por no quererte tanto.
Porque duele.
Sunday, October 14, 2007
to experience flowers
God is powerful. He reminds us that in many ways. He is in every single breath we take, every tree that moves with the wind, and in every leaf that falls down. The sunlight blinding us, the water keeping us alive, the ground witnessing our steps, all that lives proclaims His glory. But in the middle of all His majesty, there is just one single thing that catches my attention more than anything else: the flowers.
It is really amazing how I feel attracted to flowers. When I was a child I used to see them with curiosity. Whenever I saw one, I felt like it called me on silently and I, innocently, answered the call. The nearer I got to it, the more fascinated I was. When I was close enough, I could stand there for minutes! (Consider that I was four, and even now it is really hard for me to keep my concentration on just one thing at the time). I admired the brightness of its colors, the form of its petals, how it was supported by a stem, and how the stem supported leaves, and so on. Suddenly I could not help it anymore. I had to do it. My hands shook and I started to sweat. I knew it was wrong. My mom had told me so many times before. But I wanted it. So I touched it, grabbed it, ate it, erased it. Then I needed to take another one, but instead of eating it (I never found a flower that tasted good enough to eat twice) I used to tear it into small pieces with my hands; It felt so good!
What made me do that? Could it be the bright colors they have? Or was it simply the prohibition my mom gave me to touch them which incited me to it? Maybe it was my ignorance of the fact that if I keep them on the ground they will look beautiful and be there for me longer than if I take them; or maybe it was the fact that my name means flower in Spanish and I was just “predestinated” to do so. At the end, I guess the most logical explanation is this: the need I have to understand and experience empowered me to kill them. Besides that I did not really understand the meaning of ephemeral or killing. I was hungry for knowledge: what is that? How does it taste? How does it smell? How does it feel? How does it sound? What is it for? Why does it exist? Can I have it? Why not?
Fourteen years later, things have changed a lot. I do not see flowers that way anymore. In fact, I do not notice their presence in my life most of the time. When I am not in a hurry, which is very rarely, I contemplate them, but respectfully, carefully, and shortly. Maybe the only situation in which I really paid attention to them was whenever they are surrounded by my boyfriend’s hands; while I was listening pretentious words that sounded sweet in that moment (and would not sound that way now).
I feel attracted to them, maybe as much as when I was a kid, I confess. But I do not need to experience touching a flower, or smelling it, or tasting it. I already lived that, I know what it is like. I keep eating them, but now I eat them on a salad or make some tea with them; and I know mom would have nothing to say about that. I do not pick them anymore. Even worse, I buy them and put them on vase placed in the middle of my dinning table, and it is ok!
What makes it right? Why was it not right to pick them and eat them when I was four and now it is? I would say conscience. Now I know they are alive as I am. I know that if I pick 10 there are lots of more growing up somewhere else (or even in the same place). I know that not all the flowers can be eaten. But, was it not better to see things with the grace of discovering the unknown? Or was it not better exploring the deliciously beautiful already known? It is, because I keep discovering and exploring, but now the subject matter has changed. I need to do things in the wrong way to know what is right to do. I have learned from the experiences though, and now I adapt to the circumstances that affects them. And most important of all, even when my experiences make me grow, I keep being myself; I am still captivated by flowers, their colors, shapes and, specially, by their flavors.
It is really amazing how I feel attracted to flowers. When I was a child I used to see them with curiosity. Whenever I saw one, I felt like it called me on silently and I, innocently, answered the call. The nearer I got to it, the more fascinated I was. When I was close enough, I could stand there for minutes! (Consider that I was four, and even now it is really hard for me to keep my concentration on just one thing at the time). I admired the brightness of its colors, the form of its petals, how it was supported by a stem, and how the stem supported leaves, and so on. Suddenly I could not help it anymore. I had to do it. My hands shook and I started to sweat. I knew it was wrong. My mom had told me so many times before. But I wanted it. So I touched it, grabbed it, ate it, erased it. Then I needed to take another one, but instead of eating it (I never found a flower that tasted good enough to eat twice) I used to tear it into small pieces with my hands; It felt so good!
What made me do that? Could it be the bright colors they have? Or was it simply the prohibition my mom gave me to touch them which incited me to it? Maybe it was my ignorance of the fact that if I keep them on the ground they will look beautiful and be there for me longer than if I take them; or maybe it was the fact that my name means flower in Spanish and I was just “predestinated” to do so. At the end, I guess the most logical explanation is this: the need I have to understand and experience empowered me to kill them. Besides that I did not really understand the meaning of ephemeral or killing. I was hungry for knowledge: what is that? How does it taste? How does it smell? How does it feel? How does it sound? What is it for? Why does it exist? Can I have it? Why not?
Fourteen years later, things have changed a lot. I do not see flowers that way anymore. In fact, I do not notice their presence in my life most of the time. When I am not in a hurry, which is very rarely, I contemplate them, but respectfully, carefully, and shortly. Maybe the only situation in which I really paid attention to them was whenever they are surrounded by my boyfriend’s hands; while I was listening pretentious words that sounded sweet in that moment (and would not sound that way now).
I feel attracted to them, maybe as much as when I was a kid, I confess. But I do not need to experience touching a flower, or smelling it, or tasting it. I already lived that, I know what it is like. I keep eating them, but now I eat them on a salad or make some tea with them; and I know mom would have nothing to say about that. I do not pick them anymore. Even worse, I buy them and put them on vase placed in the middle of my dinning table, and it is ok!
What makes it right? Why was it not right to pick them and eat them when I was four and now it is? I would say conscience. Now I know they are alive as I am. I know that if I pick 10 there are lots of more growing up somewhere else (or even in the same place). I know that not all the flowers can be eaten. But, was it not better to see things with the grace of discovering the unknown? Or was it not better exploring the deliciously beautiful already known? It is, because I keep discovering and exploring, but now the subject matter has changed. I need to do things in the wrong way to know what is right to do. I have learned from the experiences though, and now I adapt to the circumstances that affects them. And most important of all, even when my experiences make me grow, I keep being myself; I am still captivated by flowers, their colors, shapes and, specially, by their flavors.
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