domingo, 16 de marzo de 2014



It is already coming, unavoidable,
The smell of coconut flowers
The hysterical song of cicadas
And the truck transporting water melons.

The nearness would scare him
On his neck he will suddenly receive a stroke
The enormous weight of the almanac already old
That during the morning will sing in desperation.

Trying a smile
His old shield
But he must admit his turpitude
The slow expression that was previously fast.

The gifts will hurt him
For those who not knowing patience
And it will be a little more difficult
Breathing air without stopping.

Unless he abandons
Both departure and arrival
Letting it be done by persistence
Like the clay that gives in before of the potter

Leaving aside all the names
But writing all of them              
Like pins on photographs
Like snow on other planets

Crossing their mirrors
Appointing each meter of way
Declaring on each step of the stairs
Freeing and not subjecting

According to the narration
While looking at another course
As if the things were outside
And not sunk inside.

But nobody bets on his game
Where there is only one edge
However it seems as eternal
As the one who created it.