Un último día

Ella se levantó un día buscando el sol. Salió de su cama, vió las cortinas blancas que parecían alas de ángeles contra los resplandecientes rayos de luz matutina. Puso su mano blanca sobre sus sábanas y poco a poco se levantó.

El sol la saludó y las nubes huyeron, intentado no ser mal tercio en esta carta de amor. Su piel tocó la mano blanca y blanco contra blanco danzaron en la celestial sala de baile.

Al finalizar su vals, ella bajó a la tierra y la Madre la recibió de beso. Caminó con pies desnudos sobre el lodo. Y no le importaron las manchas en sus vestidos. Recorrió la totalidad de la tierra mientras duraron los años dorados y nadó a la profundidad de los mares en la época naranja. Descubrió el mundo con la Madre.

El sol lloró por ella cuando llegó su hora de partida. Agarrando a sus fieles compañeras esponjosas, se marchó sin ver atrás. En su lugar vino la reina blanca. Azucena como la nieve. Azucena como su piel. La vistió con rocío de diamantes y le dio una corona de estrellas. Con la reina no bailó. Se vieron a los ojos durante un eterno silencio y sonrieron esa vieja sonrisa de amantes.

Pero sus ojos se desvanecieron. El rocío se deshizo y la dejó en desnudez. Sus huesos protuberantes, sus labios cual desierto, su piel gris… Ella, lista para no bailar valts con el sol ni disfrutar días con la Madre ni enamorarse de la reina. Ella, lista para

March

My heart beats like the drums of war as I walk in. Smiles surround me when I resentfully march to my death in an event oddly resembling that of the dreadfully depicted indian rituals. I can almost touch death surround me in a cold, icy embrace. It is a snake wrapped around my guts, my lungs and my heart. The weight of the snake settles upon my chest as I accept my fate and take the last breath of freedom. I say goodbye to a little piece of my soul. One more piece, more more patch of irony.

An Instinct to Live

It was a beautiful, sunny and bright afternoon in Manhattan. Helen looked out her window towards the New York skyline. Her apartment building, one of the most luxurious of modern New York, stood tall and strong. Her elegant white gown floated as she turned around towards the door, ready to leave. It would be the most magnificent party. It would be elegant, classy and everything good in the world. Helen had great expectations of what was to come.

As she got into the limousine, she felt an itch on her back, a feeling. There was something off, but she couldn’t place her finger on it. Could it be her driver? No, she had known him for many years. Could it be the limousine? No, she had bought it that same year.

via Daily Prompt: Instinct

Quiero vomitar. Las turbulencias de la vida me provocan náuseas que yo nunca había vivido antes. 

Siento mi alma chupada incluso por estas letras. 

El sonido de los autos pasando afuera de mi casa me aterra. Es viernes. Es la 1:23am. Me pregunto de dónde vendrán. Probablemente de una fiesta. ¿Tomaron? ¿Conducieronmientras borrachos? Ya no importa. Ya llegaron. Pero a veces me pregunto si su suerte se acabará algún día.  

1 de diciembre de 2015

Cuando la luna canta y el sol marchita,

encuentro tu sonrisa.
Cuando la sombras me aterran

Y las estrellas no brillan,

Tus palabras me iluminan.
Cuando la lluvia cae

Y el azul desvanece,

Tu abrazo permanece.
Cuando todo va mal,

Cuando todo va bien,

Mejor amiguito allí estarás.
Y cuando todo va mal

Y cuando todo este bien,

Nenito mío, allí estaré. 

August 6, 2015

The Subcumming 
The Snake slithers upon my soar throat. I gasp, 

But oxygen is beyond me, worlds away…

Day by day, Death draws near, long fingers grasp,

Claws sharpened, longing to slay its prey.
The Raven slaugthers pages, uncaring,

As I stare with an inside flood of pain…

I scream. No one hears. The Raven smirking, 

Leaves the book, tattered… I whither in vain.
Hours I cry. Then, a mighty light shines.

A Dove flutters and collects the fragments—

Silvery, warm matter creates gold vines

Uniting the once shattered, lost statements.
Happy tears fall, and I let the Snake press

I peacefully enter eternal rest.
Theme: The theme of a poem is dark and happy at the same time. As the narrator faces a slow death, seeing as the Snake waits for the Raven and, then, for the Dove. This makes the mood darker, yet, at the end, it becomes happy. The Book, presumably of life, is put back together. This, however, does not mean life will continue, but rather that it will be remembered. Thus, the theme is “Death is good when one is remembered”. 

1 de agosto de 2015

Para concurso de la Landívar. 

La flor levanta sus alas al cielo

Pidiendo manantial celestial, grita

Duele cuando el cielo su vida quita;

¡Cuando la Muerte hace caer su velo!
Ahora queda atrás aquel modelo

En el que la rosa belleza irradia.

Y ya no hay hermosura que a ti compara

Sin versos me quedé para decirlo…
Pues vives cuando esta no; estás aunque ella no

Y aunque en el futuro cenizas seas,

Aquí por siempre te conservaré yo
Para que tú la vida siempre poseas,

Parte tengas de este corazón mío:

Aquel que por ti late aunque ni lo veas…

Encore Une Fois

Encore une fois, je me trouve avec ce desir. Je ne sais pas la cause de cette sentiment. Je ne sais pas où, comment o quand ça avait commencé.

Peut-être que ce sont les filmes que j’ai regardé quand j’ai été petit. Toujours, avec ma famille, nous avons regardé des filmes “adultes”. Ils ne sont pas des filmes érotiques, mais il y avait une fois que les personnages principaux ne sont pas impliqués d’une manière sexuel. J’ai vu les scènes même si ma mère m’a couvrait mes yeux. A mon avis, ces scènes ont été les plus intéressants.

Peut-être était une encyclopédie que j’avais. Dans les pages qu’il devait faire parler des appareils reproductifs des personnes. Je me souviens de l’image, des mots… J’étais fasciné.

Peut-être était ma lecture. A dix ans, je l’ai lu de nombreux livres dont le publique principale étaient les adolescents de 16 ans. Dans ces livres, j’ai appris sur le sexe. Après avoir lu 50 Shades of Gray, je suis devenu accro. Je l’ai lu. Je l’ai lu très bien. Je reconnis maintenant que mon éveil sexuel.

Plus tard. Qu’est-il arrivé ensuite? Maintenant, tous est une mirage d’expériences. Je ne sais pas avec qui. Je ne sais pas comment. Je ne sais pas quand. Mais, je veux savoir la cause.

British Literature Class

“Open your books to page 651. We will be starting-” he looks over at a girl in front of the class wearing a Harvard sweater. “Stop eating in my class.” He says briefly and then continues flipping pages to find the William Blake poems we are supposed to read.

The girl keeps munching on her gummy worms. Her mouth moves slowly with lips pursed. Disgusting, I think, but I don’t say anything. She keeps the worms in her sweater’s front pocket, sort of hidden.

The teacher glances over at her; she’s in the first row. “Stop eating in my class.” He insists.

She doesn’t care. I wonder if she has ever cared about anything in her life, and then again I remember that she bluntly states that she hasn’t, that is, of course, with the exception of her beloved Diego. She pulls the gummy worms out of her sweater. That’s not part of the uniform, I realize. Again, I stay quiet.

She keeps munching, louder this time. The whole class is looking at her. The teacher doesn’t do anything about it but argue. “Stop. You’ll attract bugs. Those have sugar, don’t they?” she nods, “Well, sugar attracts small insects and those attract bigger insects. And do you know what- ” Another girl asks her for one. She gives it to her even though the other girl is in the last row. I roll my eyes. The teacher simply takes a couple of points off. A point here, a point there, who cares anyway? They couldn’t care less. He continues, “Bigger insects attract vermin!”

“What is vermin?” Another student asks.

“Like, rats and rodents.” The teacher explains.

And she keeps eating and eating. How much time have we lost already? I ask myself. It really doesn’t matter.

“That is why we eat in different places. Before, if you ate in your living room, you would have all kinds of vermin. That’s why we eat in a kitchen or in a dinning room.” He explains to a few feigning interest on what he is saying. The rest is speaking loudly among themselves. I decide to zone out for a little bit. The next thing I hear is his voice, still trying to convince the girl to stop eating in his class.

“It’s inconsiderate to the cleaning staff. All of you have maids to clean up after you, so you never consider the mess you are creating.” He says.

“I don’t have a mess.” She replies, but I see sugar covering her desk and notebook even from where I’m sitting. Her fingers are covered in this same substance, probably slowly melting in her fingers.

She takes out about five gummy worms out of the bag and places them in her hand. She stands up as the teacher tries to further prove his point, and throws the bag away in the trashcan outside of the classroom.

“See, she didn’t even clean up.” He complains to us as she walks back towards her desk.

She continues swallowing her gummy worms, lips covered in sugar. Sugar, sugar, everywhere, and but a crystal here. Sugar, sugar, everywhere and all the students see, I grin at my amateur attempt at making a parallelism to The Rime of the Ancient Mariner. The grin quickly fades as I realize that we have spent almost fifteen minutes discussing this eating-in-class “problem”. She finishes her last gummy worms, and sick of the teacher’s complaining, stands up.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” sha says, and doesn’t come back for a while.

The teacher continues ranting on and on about our privileged lives and how we don’t care about cleanliness. I don’t have a maid. I think about making a mess all the time because my mother cleans up, and I don’t want to make more work for her. I zone out again, bored, staring into nothingness and thinking about how much I would like to be reading New Philosopher the article my friend send me.

She comes back, without anything to clean up. She just sits down, and the teacher by now has forgotten about her cleaning.

We finally open our books to page 651.