Etiquetas

sábado, 23 de julio de 2011

Por una ventana en Callao

Él nunca será mío.
Tras una ilusión sólo yace la verdad.
Lo que refleja la mañana
es el eco monónotono de una lenta repetición
de unas pocas noches pasadas.
Toca volver a casa,
es hora de aspirar la realidad
y no pensar más en momentos vacuos
que huyeron por una ventana en Callao.

domingo, 17 de julio de 2011

The last moment

One last kiss, with a sour flavour burning in their lips.
A last smile dedicated to each other´s eyes,
and two hands losing the touch from each other,
floating away, falling from their souls in just a moment.
"Time" is the word which they don´t allow themselves to think about,
"Now" is the sole sustainable word in their path,
whispered to the ethereal night that is watching them.
The owned nothing, they only shared the same sky.

Preguntas al cielo

La luz de la luna sólo atrapa y envuelve,
dichada noche ¿cuándo dejaremos de codiciar tus encantos?
¿Seguiremos siendo humanos cuando las estrellas nos engullan?
Caprichoso destino, ¿nos brindarás risas o lágrimas?
¿Caeremos ante la luz de una nueva mañana
o saldremos al viento ardiente que airee nuestras ilusiones?
Te invocaremos como la sonrisa de un niño, tú Fortuna,
para que nos levantes o nos dejes caer en el intento.

lunes, 11 de julio de 2011

That voice

I still hear that voice in my mind.
It chases me, haunts me, and in dreams -
it whispers to me.
It is a stowaway in my head that was installed there.
It has been a long time since it travels with me,
always by my side.
Sometimes it caresses me,
and there are others in which it hits me.
And sweetly it vomits words
that remained etched in my body and -
in my red heart.
It mutters "you fell again",
it shouts "you are a mess"
and it says "you must be perfect"
Be perfect... Be perfect...

domingo, 10 de julio de 2011

I see your face

I see your face in the strangest places,
and it seems to me that every man looks like you,
and it seems to me that you are behind me
waiting to hold my hand,
like a presence that is repeated
during the long sleepless hours.
Following but hiding,
in an obscure absence
of breath and substance.
Maybe because we seek what is impossible to find,
maybe because we want what we cannot have.

El principio de un final

Por vez primera en nuestra historia
no deseaba que aquellos brazos me enlazasen.
Por una vez sentí mis manos gélidas
y mi interior inerte ante sus caricias.
Lo que tan largo tiempo se anhela,
en poco tiempo se destruye.