domingo, 22 de marzo de 2015

The love expires

Every night my bed ceases to be so cold
to comfort with my sleep,
every day the sun seems so different telling me
understand, you've never been its owner.

My heart stops to be so fragile to its contempt
and becomes in a source of eternal hope
every step I take seems to remind me what happened;
every step I take begins to take me away from its nest.

I write every night, so that herself be witness
about how much I miss her
about how much I gradually forget her.

Each "why" it's transformed into one it was the best;
each "why" reminds me that maybe I'm not the worst,
each one of its sepread words in other ears 
have come to tell me that I'm not what I was times ago.

And each "what if there were?" stands in front of me and says:
it is not thus
This is not what I wanted;
that yet does not exist on his lips the truth for me feeling
that as much as I want, now I only can make her suffer.

But yet I stand here in front of the moon
saying aloud, like her I have not met anyone
but like everything in life, also, the love expires.

lunes, 16 de marzo de 2015

Bitácora de vuelo - 16/Mar/2015

La vida es la guerra que se libra entre todas las fuerzas. Buscamos paz dentro de esa guerra. ¿Qué es la paz? ¿Estamos yendo contra natura?
¿No somos? ¿Nos despreciamos? Tenemos la cabeza llena de demasiados preceptos que nos impiden ver con claridad.
Ponemos un manto blanco a un cielo infinitamente negro.