Coincidences

Kisses and murmurs

share a silence share a noise

they speak they rattle

Glazed bile and water vapour

share a lightness share a heat

they boil and they rise

Sweet dreams and hopes

share a sky share a night

they rise and they evaporate

Inner thoughts and steps

share a rhythm share a voice

they go back and they go forth

Death and oblivion

share a stillness share a cry

that lasts and that hurts

Contentment and fudge

share a bitterness and a lie

rancid and sweet

The sun and the moon

share a time and share a light

they come and they go

Hopelessness and rust

share corrosion share a bite

they go deep and down

Loneliness and mold

share a dampness share a cold

they break down they infuse.

Hope and sunshine

share a light share a warmth

they soothe they enliven

Fraternity and mist

share a continuity share a force

they permeate they flow.

Half made

Made of paper

and comes the rain

and we get wrinkled

and comes the ink

and we say things we don’t really want to say.

Made of paper

and comes the wind

and we go where we don’t want to go

and comes the fire

and we are gone forever.

 

Made of glass

and time goes by

and we melt

and wind comes

and we hiss softly

and we howl the same lament.

Made of glass

and we break in pieces

pieces of sand and time

and we become someone else

someone for each broken piece

made of mist and fog

and we rise up to the sky

floating rivers and evaporating seas

and we are up in the sky

and we fall down and we leak.

Broken mirrors

In the desert of broken mirrors the sun reflects with the splendor of thousand suns.

At night neither darkness nor moon, all the light accumulated.

In the sea of broken mirrors the ripples were cutting reflections on their way.

The sea keeps at the bottom broken and salty reflections.

In the universe of broken mirrors the space was infinite: a duplicated labyrinth of triple nebulas, dark holes and fragmented suns.

In the past of broken mirrors memoirs were distorted, incomplete, multiplied. Reflections of ourselves cut us.

In the forest of broken mirrors, the wind moved the reflections and leaves crashed like crystals: mirror dust under the path of the wind.

In the clouds of broken mirrors, pieces of the world were reflecting.

When it rained, forgotten pieces of ourselves showered us, leaving us damp.

In the sun of broken mirrors storms raise and a thousand fragments reflect the light.

Everything melts and mirrors are formed anew.

In the future of broken mirrors, reflections shine, blinding.

We confuse fragments with precious stones. It is a single light.

Radiant.

In the rainforest of broken mirrors sounds are reflected.

Even at night, with the moonlight, the space is filled with murmurs and green sounds.

In the wind of broken mirrors, reflections howl, become swirls and go mad.

Some winds bring with them the reflections of the desert.

In the present of broken mirrors, fragments disorient us and confuse us.

Reflections divert us. We only hear the rustle under our feet.

In the city of broken mirrors, reflections of success, wealth, failure and pain get confused.

Astounded, reflections don’t move.

In the moon of broken mirrors, the gaze of the lovers and the mad are reflected.

In new moon, the secrets of the tide don’t go back to the sea.

In the body of broken mirrors reflected words run through veins and viscera.

Every now and then, some of them escape from lips and lungs.

Everything falls

A star falls, a maybe falls, the sky falls, the present falls.

A memoir falls, the snow falls, a curtain falls, the future falls.

The cold night falls, rain falls, the nevermore falls, the past falls.

The ashes fall, a perhaps falls, the backdrop falls, a tomorrow falls.

Hail falls, a cloud falls, a whatever falls, a now falls.

Midnight falls, the yesterday suddenly falls, the night dew falls, a then falls.

The afternoon falls, a who knows falls, leaves fall, a how late falls.

Mid day falls, a never falls, the pain falls, another future falls.

A tear falls, joy falls, coldness falls, all together falls.

A gaze falls, the remorse falls, a forever falls, an again falls.

Softly falls, abruptly falls, slowly falls, falls at last.

It is

It is the river that runs across the bottom of the sea of dreams,

the agony that drills the rock,

the doubt,

the breath held,

the waiting.

It is the waiting.

It is the joyful water of the river,

the honey,

the cotton candy,

the clouds traveling light across the sky,

the sweet that does not scald.

It is everything that is sweet.

It is the time that stretches,

the future that will never end,

it is everything that was,

what it will be,

what it will never be again.

It is the eternal time.

It is the wound open to the pain of salt,

the doubt,

the nights

and the insomnia,

it is the fear that runs through the skin,

the hopelessness.

It is the agony.

It is a row of days that you have counted ever since the beginning,

it is all the nights,

all the words,

repeated in the silence.

It is the persistence.

It is a tongue running across your territory,

It is the tip of your fingers signaling a path.

It is the fruit open to the bite.

It is the sex.

It is a colony of ants flowing through your veins,

it is the perfect second that stretches.

It is the ecstasy.

It is the dream you wake up to feeling the night’s gaze,

it is the moon’s suspicion,

the wind of darkness in your guts.

It is a dream.

Sangre

Un río flota dentro de mí,

sube y baja,

pesado y ligero,

a gritos y en silencio,

resuena y fluye.

Escucha:

el rojo río quiere salirse de su cauce.

Un río esta escurriendo en aquella esquina,

puedes oír su gotear por la noche

si pegas tu oído sobre mi pecho

o si nadas en la oscuridad.

Un pequeño arroyo corre

por las grietas de la ciudad,

pulsando.

Todos ignoran su presencia

y su olor a sangre.

El arroyo continúa con su palpitar.

Un listón férrico y espeso

sale de cada uno de nosotros.

Se enrolla alrededor de nosotros

uniéndonos en un abrazo líquido.

Puedes escuchar su sonido de cauce.

En días húmedos,

nuestro vibrante listón rubí

se eleva hacia los huracanes,

tornados y nubes volcánicas.

Brilla y fluye,

se remonta y escurre.

Cuando nos besamos, hierven.

Cuando nos tocamos, susurran.

Cuando nos abrazamos, se mezclan.

Cuando hablamos, fluyen.

Nuestros ríos fluyen.

Juntos.

Profundamente.

Definitions

Life is a hurricane full of fauces and feathers.

In a twist its fangs go deep on you and chew you, in the other one it covers and caresses you.

The night is a sea of bat wings that fall down over us as an avalanche.

The caress of silky wings moves some and drives others mad.

Forgetfulness is a marsh of oil that gulps everything down.

Every now and then, the most luminous flowers come out of its waters. Shining.

Desire is a tide of foamy mist that sticks as it strokes the skin that goes forward rattling. It is the air that closes.

Dawn is a wave of modest and sparkly faeries with little bells on their feet.

Only birds and the river embrace so much luminosity.

Pain is being inhabited by a castle with doors that open and close, screeching and slamming.

It is the corridors we walk endlessly.

Anger is a wounded beast that runs through the veins scratching the guts.

It is an ivy that suffocates the viscera. It is stabbing the water.

The day is an uproar, an explosion, a tweet concert, is the wind rising, is wings and photosynthesis. Comes and goes and goes around.

Doubt is a lost tide, never wanted, never expected, never forgotten.

Comes and goes, grows and shrinks. Sometimes, it seems to disappear.

Sadness is a flock of swallows flying in circles inside the chest.

Every now and then, one of them crashes against the heart.

The afternoon sun is an omen epidemic that ends up in a very red sunset full of green clouds. As it were.

Ego is a ravenous monster.

Blind and deaf, lost in a labyrinth, it only knows its own size and the flatteries that feed it.

Hate is a wick looking for the sun, a volcano in the iris, a worm coiled under the skin, the sweetest drug and the biggest promise.

The sea is a wreckage, a déjà vu, an insomniac dream, the silence that roars, the sleepy horizon. It is what we were, what we are and will be.