Daydreams, reflections
The Self Portrait
In the portrait that I make of myself
– line by line –
Sometimes I paint myself as a cloud,
Sometimes I paint myself as a tree
Sometimes I paint myself as things
That there are no more memories of…
Or things that do not exist
But that one day will…
And, chugging along, I seek
– little by little –
My eternal semblance,
In the end, what will be left?
A child’s drawling…
Finished by a lunatic!
If things are unattainable… well
That’s not a good enough reason to not want them…
How sad the life paths would be if it weren’t for
The presence of the distant stars!
Today I woke up thinking about a stone on a street in Calcutta.
Of a certain stone on a street in Calcutta. Unfastened. Alone.
Who notices it? Just me, who’s never been there.
Just me, on this side of the world, I send you this thought now…
My stone of Calcutta!
Of our woes
Our own aches and pains are enough,
For no one’s cross is small
As bad as the situation is in China
Our calluses hurt much more…
What does it matter how much ash remains if the flame was high and bright?
Inscription for the entrance gate of a cemetery: “Death does not improve anyone…”
Dialogue through the night
– But there are some who understand us…
– Oh, those are the worst!
Those who put a bullet in their head withdraw themselves from this world by slamming the door.
Of good and evil
Everyone has their charm: the saints and the corrupt.
There is nothing in life that is entirely bad.
You say that the truth bears fruit…
Have you ever seen flowers grow from a lie?
There are nights that I cannot sleep with remorse for what I have failed to do.
Each person thinks as they can…
And one day men will discover that these flying saucers were only studying the life of insects…
The wind’s greatest sorrow is not being colorful.
We did not know
We didn’t even know that the Earth was round yet.
And we thought that somewhere, far away,
There must be a sign on an old post
– an old cooked post
And that read in rustic letters: END OF THE WORLD.
Ah! Then they taught us that the world has no end
And we had no choice but to walk round and round
Like ants on an orange peel.
How was it possible, how was it possible, my God,
To live in that confusion?
This is why we established a whole series of world ends…
Always
It will never be known with what meticulous care that
All That Is came and erased the traces of Everything
And when not even a single sigh remained
He came in a leap
Selling feather dusters of all colors!
The first time that I was murdered
I lost the way of smiling that I had…
Then, every time they killed me,
They went on taking anything they could from me.
The Time and the Wind
There was a ladder that stopped suddenly in the air
There was a door that led to who knows what
There was a clock where death knitted time
But there was a stream running between the toes of the bustling feet
And birds resting on the telegraph wire post
And the wind!
The wind from since the beginning of the world
Was playing with your hair…
May my peace and my beloved silence
Not delude anyone (…)
I think of myself as relatively happy,
Because nothing happens outside me
But, in me, in my soul,
I feel that I will have an earthquake.
Stowaway
“In the trunk of my car
I take with me a hidden angel…
When we came to a clearing,
He comes out from inside, stretches his wings, as beautiful as victory itself
And then, upon his shoulders, I take a long stroll through the city skies…
Dictionary
Dream: a poem that when you read it, you don’t even feel as if it has been written, but that it sprouted, at that very moment, in your own heart.
Style: Style is a difficulty of expression.
Curved line: the most enjoyable way between two points.
Straight line: an unimaginative line.
Melancholy: the romantic way to be sad.
Fulfilled to the letter: to hang is to take too seriously the knot at the throat.
The wind: Sheppard of the clouds.
Synonyms: those who think there are synonyms, I suspect that they cannot distinguish the different shades of a color.
The true illiterate is one who knows how to read, but does not.
Entries
Childhood – Life in Technicolor.
Aging – Life in black and white.
We – the pronoun of the herd.
Travel – to change the landscape of loneliness.
Psychoanalysis? One of the most fascinating forms of the police genre, in which the detective attempts to uncover a crime ignored by the criminal himself.
Imagination – It is memory that went crazy.
Peace – the paths are resting.
‘Diabetic’ – Someone who cannot be sweet.
‘Dwarf’ is one who does not let love grow.
Moonlight – Sunlight in dream state.
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