Thoughts are impediments
Grown by the sea, with the tide meandering
For such growth under the sun.
Such are the words of a crackpot,
Dejected and seasick, yet among dry woods,
Heads are bowed in thoughts.
Thoughts are primitive.
The seething wavelength caresses the void.
......
So, since you ask
the civilization have broken down
and man become tyrants for himself
dissevered and deceived
he share his pitiful confusions
sinks into despair
and in atrociously violence
And what to do?
to keep's your own integrity
to respect the sacredness of life
......
Sitting still.
Avoiding.
Waiting.
Accepting.
Sentado quieto.
Evitando
Esperando.
Aceptando
And this that we call life,
it is no more than the opening
and closing of a eye
a crevice in the unborn
through which there shone
a beam of light.
Perhaps we are only here to say,
live in the mercy
of the enkindless immensity.
She’s tricky
She undermines your progress
Suggesting things based on what you’re weak about
You realize in her absence it was all nonsense
*****
She attacks you, she protects you
She distract you with things you don’t need
Just to get herself stronger
......
I was about asking why the fetters are
Tightened more on our feet of progression
I was about asking why the bright day
Suddenly turns black as we approach the crossroads
I was about asking why every tread thrusts
Us back the winding way we came
I was about asking why the caravanserai
......
The image of silence
is a broken heart.
Melodies of silence, mournful,
are not consoled even by energies
of drums.
And silence lingers
beneath the ripping soles of a
dancing crowd;
a breath of riot hovers above
......
In the burrows of the Nightmare
Where Justice naked is,
life watches from the shadow
And the stars go squawking
but Life remains a blessing
No winter without a spring
beyond the dark horizon a brighter day
For those who leave us for a while
Out of a restless, care worn world
Our hearts will once more sing
......
Entering through resplendent gates,
to where countless dead seek final rest,
and those alive muse the touch of soil:
Where commemorating stones are monumental;
a reminder to all creatures that waste away
in vessels that perish beneath a hundred years.
Where manicured gardens court Repose
whose silence disturbed by a lazy breeze
......
I sit, this morn, on the bed of
A dried-up rivulet,
Head-bent and full of compunction.
It’s clam-quiet except for the impatient
Squawks above which prompt my heartbeat.
I raise my head, heavy with grief.
Climbers and weevils align in a silent choir,
Singing with precision the lines of a forgotten
Mirth.
It’s 5 o’clock in the morning — a time when
......