Printfriendly

domingo, 8 de junio de 2014

From the street




From the street in the story
From the door of your house
To other people and their yearning
Which many times you saw
Surrounded without love.

Believing that you act in secret
When his name is in your thoughts
When you suppose no one would notice
That you would be prepared to take it as foundation
Of the words to greet the day

Maturity tells us that nobody is so different
In relation to a younger age
In which pain and pleasure usually dwell
Becoming more or less separated from others
Secure in your own vision like a reward.

And then, suddenly in the morning
Or rather late sometime during the night
The time goes by as a new concern
Becomes another identical urgency
Because its origin could not be in someone.

Understanding complete musical scores
Which ample schools allow harmoniously
Vivid blueprints are drawn
And although the sphere follows in its infinite circling
At least the center could be imagined from time to time.

The street is formed by your firm steps
Nearness of one human being to another
The possible fraternity for a solitary company
Crinkling the forehead without causing any harm
Just to give an answer in approaching denseness.

From the same street in which nothing can happen
So that your nature can feel happy
And steal the guilty feeling from the lamps
Which in great sadness light the bulbs
Which are unable to continue shining during the day.

Near here and that street
Where twilight descends
Without considering in the skylight
In the eternal vault which silently lives its tomb
The lace of the first dress, the last dry rose.

And the sacrificial bonds in the columns
Resisting dislodgement even when it comes to pass
The fragile moment of rest for a black bird
Because its handcrafted metallic extensions
Were infected a long time ago by your innocent desire for colors.

From the street where sometimes you danced
So that one offended and another admired
On the board where for the first time was written
The difficult feeling that each joy likes to convey
That you read askance when you left without understanding.

From the street that will never join us
And where the sons of others will travel
Combining times in words
Like races which in their final vision
Regret without repenting the moment that already passed.

From the street
That your feet leave behind
For the voice finally discovered
From the heart that you never kept
That you undoubtedly feel it is demanding your surrender.