Резултати претраге

Stay with me.

Stay with me
this afternoon
forever,
my love.
 
Later you can
leave.
Where the waves
of life
push you

Not being with you, is called Friday.

It was Thursday
oceanfront.
in Wismar,
the city
at whose feet
the Baltic
exhausts the effort
of its biology
made into gray
head-on.
 
A mass of clouds
without moon neither sun
was the breast
of the distant sky,
that also leaned,
away,
on the face
of the waters
to kiss them,
softly musical
and lonely.
 
The autumn
was ascending to the trees
and it’s naked sing
was a branch,
under whose dimension without leaves,
were sadder the winds,
 
and kinder
the stones and the grass.
 
We had walked
without talking all afternoon.
 
After disputes
always silence was seeking us
and it was more difficult to speak
than love each other without words.
 
Behind us
had stayed so much landscape and so much kiss.
The lakes, the train, the wine.
The hotel, the rivers, the stations.
The birds, and always the birds.
 
In Wismar,
you were amazed of the ships so huge,
so small, however,
that still were fitting in your eyes.
I didn’t say it then.
I only was looking deeply at your blue become surprise.
 
And now the sea, the Baltic.
I had never seen my life
so much gray gathered,
fidgetting
at the height of my north.
 
“ You know, I told you,
I will be leaving in December”.
“ And it already hurts horribly,
the last day of November,
in which will begin
only many December for me,
for this indian that you love,
my love”.
 
Your words said nothing.
Wounds in their flight,
didn’t reach your lips.
Then, long after:
“Let’s go, you said.
It is cold already for the four of us
and for that flower on the sand,
so similar to the corpse of a star”.
 
This Friday
I walk through the streets of my Guatemala,
the city of which so much was talking with you my hope.
A shy gray drizzle
fills everything with its face.
I hide under my cheap raincoat some political bulletins,
that shouldn’t never getting wet,
just with the sight of men.
I still lift out of habit
the neck of my raincoat and nobody says anything next to me.
 
In my country it is called winter what in yours is summer.
But there is always sun and never snow in the air.
It is Friday, and it is always will be Friday if you are not with me.
 
But we still continue to impose ourselves to the cold,
and we go on living.
 
And here,
next to the flag that I love,
your eyes still light to me,
My love.
 

Notify.

Nothing
will be able
against this avalanche
of Love.
Against this rearmament of man
in his most noble structures.
 
Nothing
will be able
against the faith of people
in the unique potency
of their hands.
 
Nothing
will be able
against the Life.
 
And nothing
will be able
against the Life,
because nothing
could
never
against the Life.
 

Meet.

We were so far each other.
Seas were between us.
Mountains and water.
Fire and wind.
Long years
of dark desperation
there was between us.
 
But we meet,
nonetheless,
because the Life wanted it,
Blindly.