When shall I at last return, In which minute, time or age, To my lady's dearest part —No one knows it, only me— So inside her I just stay Without ever coming out? To that place I want to go, To her deepest inner side, To the secret valley of joy Where my body and… Seguir leyendo «Without Ever Coming Out», by Carlos Germán Belli
A wordless mind Running out of time. End of the day. Written after the daily prompt of NaPoWriMo.
I saw a girl last night. She dances under the dome of the sky, Under the dome of the spanning night that surrounds the living. She hears the music and dances to it, The music that surrounds the silence of the dead, The music that sounds in the morning As the sunbeam touches the interstices… Seguir leyendo The Phantom
No one can see me through these walls Of bricks and cement made. I stand alone and wash my teeth On every single day. I sit upon a toilet and The time, it went away, I stand and turn and see again Whatever that I ate. I wash my hands with soap and I Don't… Seguir leyendo The Bathroom
The Sun, that early Westerner, Arises while I drink my white coffee In a fun Monday morning. There is no traffic in the highway. There is no one at the office. There is no work to do. So I wander by the aisles Without thinking How to tell you That I don’t love you anymore.… Seguir leyendo The Lie
To the people of Valparaíso Where does it come from, The full heat of the fire? Does it come from the hills Up above us, Where the standing trees, Rising their non-fleshed bodies That patience made, Dry themselves into the wind? Does it come from the wind Howling among the gorges of the hills, Among… Seguir leyendo The Wildfire
Come inside Through the door, There's a book On the floor. Read aloud And explore: It's your life At its core. Written after the prompt of the day of NaPoWriMo.
A sudden flash Of wheat and electricity: The toast pops up.