There is a place, a secret place inside of me.
There is a being, a mysterious being, living quietly in that place.
Sometimes he goes away, I don’t know very well why. I just happen to go there for a visit and he’s gone.
It’s so cold and lonely without him there… I feel empty. Lost. Mediocre.
He understands everything so well, so much better than I do… And yet he looks at me with the eyes of an innocent child.
His name is Sara. I asked him why he had a female name, but he responded with his silence.
He doesn’t talk. He just doesn’t talk. I think he could if he wanted to... Maybe he wants me to learn other ways to express myself... other ways to listen.
Sara wasn’t here today. I searched for him everywhere. He didn’t come.
And my heart is breaking with his absence cos I came here to tell him I want us to have a baby together.
Oh, life doesn’t make any sense without Sara! If at least I could have a child from him, maybe I’d be able to feel his presence at all times.
Sara is my true love. The one that was promised to me. I found him. And he is inside.
Sweet Sara, why do you leave me like this? I can see the love in your eyes…
I want to caress you but I’m afraid I might fall and burn like Icarus, cos touching you would be like touching the Sun.
And your silent, your eloquent silence. I know…
I know so well what you mean when your eyes touch mine.
I know what you mean when they don’t.
Sara likes being alone, but he doesn’t like to be forgotten. And we all tend to forget what we take for granted.
And so he flies away, disappears, vanishes in the air, leaving me all alone with myself.
Sara, wait! Let’s pack our things and run to the mountain. You know I can hear your whisper in the mountain…
But it’s just too easy to love and care for someone when there is nothing else to love and care for. And Sara is not a puppet. He was born a winner.
He won my heart for all eternity when I first saw him. Won it with my first breath.
He’s just giving me time to see it.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Monday, December 17, 2007
One
Dear God.
I wish I could be grateful.
I wish I could be stupidly grateful for things I don't understand.
Just to say I am...
But why should I try to be grateful
Why should I stick to the less
When I can become one with you.
I wish I could be grateful.
I wish I could be stupidly grateful for things I don't understand.
Just to say I am...
But why should I try to be grateful
Why should I stick to the less
When I can become one with you.
Part-time Job
I wanted to be a part-time writer
I wanted to be a part-time woman
I wanted to be a part-time human
I wanted to howl at the moon and get lost into the forest...
Singing about the Truth for all eternity...
On a part time basis.
I wanted to be a part-time woman
I wanted to be a part-time human
I wanted to howl at the moon and get lost into the forest...
Singing about the Truth for all eternity...
On a part time basis.
La Bruja de Oviedo
Un día Silvia se trajo una pequeña bruja de Oviedo.
Era una muñeca de trapos, muy guapa, con una nariz y una barbilla de enorme personalidad, y una sonrisa inquietante. Sus pequeños ojos brillaban en el salón oscuro, apenas iluminado con el fuego bailante del hogar. Silvia no sabia muy bien por que se la había comprado, pensó que podría ser un buen regalo para su sobrina, a quien le encantaban todo tipo de muñecos, pero terminó dejándola en el salón indefinidamente. Cada día la miraba y veía en ella un encanto especial. La verdad es que nunca le habían despertado mucho interés este tipo de muñecos… o las brujas. Pero al verla con su sonrisa tan simpática cada día, tendida en la pared, un sentimiento de curiosidad la llevó a jugar un poco con ella. Le movía un poco una mano… luego la otra… Las movía como si temblaran, por la edad. Luego decidió moverle los pies, despacito… La puso en el suelo, caminando por el aire… Por fin, la puso delante de un pequeño espejo y intentó por momentos olvidarse de que era ella quien la movía. Entonces se dio cuenta de lo increíblemente realistas que estos muñecos pueden llegar a ser. La brujita caminaba, bailaba y se movía por lo general como una persona de verdad. Un pequeño escalofrío subió por su espina al ver la muñeca ganar vida de una forma tan sorprendente. Y, por momentos, una fracción de segundo… la mirada de la bruja pareció fijarse en la suya, a través del espejo, lo suficientemente realista para que Silvia dejara de respirar por momentos y la muñeca cayera al suelo, rompiendo una mano. “Que tontería” – piensa, mirando la bruja en el suelo – “Asustarme con una muñeca inofensiva.”
Recobrándose del susto, se fue al cajón del armario a buscar pegamiento y se detuvo unos minutos arreglándole la mano. Mientras lo hacia, miraba a sus ojos, pensativa. Por fin terminó y dejó la muñeca, esta vez, sentada en el sofá.
(continua)
Era una muñeca de trapos, muy guapa, con una nariz y una barbilla de enorme personalidad, y una sonrisa inquietante. Sus pequeños ojos brillaban en el salón oscuro, apenas iluminado con el fuego bailante del hogar. Silvia no sabia muy bien por que se la había comprado, pensó que podría ser un buen regalo para su sobrina, a quien le encantaban todo tipo de muñecos, pero terminó dejándola en el salón indefinidamente. Cada día la miraba y veía en ella un encanto especial. La verdad es que nunca le habían despertado mucho interés este tipo de muñecos… o las brujas. Pero al verla con su sonrisa tan simpática cada día, tendida en la pared, un sentimiento de curiosidad la llevó a jugar un poco con ella. Le movía un poco una mano… luego la otra… Las movía como si temblaran, por la edad. Luego decidió moverle los pies, despacito… La puso en el suelo, caminando por el aire… Por fin, la puso delante de un pequeño espejo y intentó por momentos olvidarse de que era ella quien la movía. Entonces se dio cuenta de lo increíblemente realistas que estos muñecos pueden llegar a ser. La brujita caminaba, bailaba y se movía por lo general como una persona de verdad. Un pequeño escalofrío subió por su espina al ver la muñeca ganar vida de una forma tan sorprendente. Y, por momentos, una fracción de segundo… la mirada de la bruja pareció fijarse en la suya, a través del espejo, lo suficientemente realista para que Silvia dejara de respirar por momentos y la muñeca cayera al suelo, rompiendo una mano. “Que tontería” – piensa, mirando la bruja en el suelo – “Asustarme con una muñeca inofensiva.”
Recobrándose del susto, se fue al cajón del armario a buscar pegamiento y se detuvo unos minutos arreglándole la mano. Mientras lo hacia, miraba a sus ojos, pensativa. Por fin terminó y dejó la muñeca, esta vez, sentada en el sofá.
(continua)
Soul
My soul said one day she, too, wanted to exist.
Reluctant, I said: "well, maybe that could be arranged".
And avoided her ever since.
The Eyes
One day she decided she would keep his eyes. It's not like he would miss them anyway...
She understood those eyes better than he did. And that should make her their rightful owner.
They didn't really fit his mouth... it was just a mouth. What were those eyes doing there?
No, they were a treasure. And she should keep it.
How frustrated he was, that she didn't feel that way about his dick. Or his muscles, he had good muscles. But there she stood, impassible to his offers: "No, just the eyes". He even offered his heart. "Eyes", she said.
He couldn't give his eyes. They saw too much of the world, they knew too much, understood too much. Even if the owner didn't, those eyes did. They could tell a million stories...
"He might not be totally uninteresting", she thought. But the discrepancy between what she saw in his eyes and the rest was too big for her to bear it. It's not that she hated it; she just wasn't interested. She could make a whole movie about those eyes - but she couldn't do much with anything else. And she was too tired to pretend she could.
"I know it sounds bad, but I really just want one thing from you: your eyes, or nothing at all".
He felt so rejected as she spoke these words. But he should know women, they are all after one thing, with no respect for the man himself. So he gave her his eyes. What else he could do?
It was so dark when she left with his eyes on her hand, glowing like diamonds. But he would survive.
She was not a mean girl. She just was too in love with his eyes. Those divine eyes... so easy to love, without the human behind. And she loved them for all eternity.
She understood those eyes better than he did. And that should make her their rightful owner.
They didn't really fit his mouth... it was just a mouth. What were those eyes doing there?
No, they were a treasure. And she should keep it.
How frustrated he was, that she didn't feel that way about his dick. Or his muscles, he had good muscles. But there she stood, impassible to his offers: "No, just the eyes". He even offered his heart. "Eyes", she said.
He couldn't give his eyes. They saw too much of the world, they knew too much, understood too much. Even if the owner didn't, those eyes did. They could tell a million stories...
"He might not be totally uninteresting", she thought. But the discrepancy between what she saw in his eyes and the rest was too big for her to bear it. It's not that she hated it; she just wasn't interested. She could make a whole movie about those eyes - but she couldn't do much with anything else. And she was too tired to pretend she could.
"I know it sounds bad, but I really just want one thing from you: your eyes, or nothing at all".
He felt so rejected as she spoke these words. But he should know women, they are all after one thing, with no respect for the man himself. So he gave her his eyes. What else he could do?
It was so dark when she left with his eyes on her hand, glowing like diamonds. But he would survive.
She was not a mean girl. She just was too in love with his eyes. Those divine eyes... so easy to love, without the human behind. And she loved them for all eternity.
The Statue
She was a statue. She died on a silver lake, on a park of Barcelona, around mid September.
Beautiful Barcelona… Cold Barcelona.
Beneath the cold marble, there was once flesh and blood. There were gracious movements, breathing, there was a smile. No one knows very well where it all went. One day, on the silver lake, all there was left was stone.
Many people walk besides the lake and take pictures to the melancholic marble. Golden, tall girls, dressed in the latest fashion. All of them like to take her picture. One more picture for the guys in cool cultural Barcelona. None of them understood…
Handsome sculpted boys… some of them would walk beside her without even noticing she was there… She was too pale for their burned eyes… too innocent for their eager bodies. So there she stood, alone. And alone she wanted to be.
One night, he appeared. He was alone, but he wasn’t lonely. He had a bottle of wine and fire in his eyes. And then he saw her. He really saw her. There was no one else there, so he decided to talk to her. He talked for hours, about ordinary things – there was no one there to impress. And the statue remained unimpressed.
He suddenly realized he loved her. He dropped his bottle on the ground and stood on his feet. And he said, firmly: “Dance with me!”. There where flames bursting out of his eyes, as if his soul was too big for his body and was about to get out. “Dance with me”, he repeated in her ear, softly. As she felt his strong, warm hand touching hers, blood started flowing through her cheek – and then through her entire body.
They danced for the whole night. Their love expressed in multiple ways on each step. She was no longer frightened or cold - she was Alive. Her laughter echoed through all Barcelona. She looked him in the eyes as he moved her around and pressed her body against his. Their fire dance woke up the Gods in heavens and lightened up the stars…
…Until the big star came up. She knew he had to leave. Secretly, she wished she could too. So they left each other’s hands, smiling gratefully and both went on their ways.
On the silver lake she once again lied down and let the cold enter her spine and then her flesh; her eyes closed for all eternity… this time, with a smile.
Beautiful Barcelona… Cold Barcelona.
Beneath the cold marble, there was once flesh and blood. There were gracious movements, breathing, there was a smile. No one knows very well where it all went. One day, on the silver lake, all there was left was stone.
Many people walk besides the lake and take pictures to the melancholic marble. Golden, tall girls, dressed in the latest fashion. All of them like to take her picture. One more picture for the guys in cool cultural Barcelona. None of them understood…
Handsome sculpted boys… some of them would walk beside her without even noticing she was there… She was too pale for their burned eyes… too innocent for their eager bodies. So there she stood, alone. And alone she wanted to be.
One night, he appeared. He was alone, but he wasn’t lonely. He had a bottle of wine and fire in his eyes. And then he saw her. He really saw her. There was no one else there, so he decided to talk to her. He talked for hours, about ordinary things – there was no one there to impress. And the statue remained unimpressed.
He suddenly realized he loved her. He dropped his bottle on the ground and stood on his feet. And he said, firmly: “Dance with me!”. There where flames bursting out of his eyes, as if his soul was too big for his body and was about to get out. “Dance with me”, he repeated in her ear, softly. As she felt his strong, warm hand touching hers, blood started flowing through her cheek – and then through her entire body.
They danced for the whole night. Their love expressed in multiple ways on each step. She was no longer frightened or cold - she was Alive. Her laughter echoed through all Barcelona. She looked him in the eyes as he moved her around and pressed her body against his. Their fire dance woke up the Gods in heavens and lightened up the stars…
…Until the big star came up. She knew he had to leave. Secretly, she wished she could too. So they left each other’s hands, smiling gratefully and both went on their ways.
On the silver lake she once again lied down and let the cold enter her spine and then her flesh; her eyes closed for all eternity… this time, with a smile.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)