One step

Source

Keep walking and cross the desert of hope,

to leave the known behind, 

the family courtyard,

the streets of friends,

and the laughter of Grandpa's nights.

Breaking ties,

and have your life tied to your back,

because you can't take any more, 

just the percentage of misery you got at the fair; 

nothing else.

Take you with me in search of light

that hasn't been seen yet,

the one they say is beyond,

of a million steps in solitude.

Follow because your gaze is my breath,

your snails that sing the future,

your warm hands that urge you to take a step further.

After arriving, see the wall, 

stop it and feel the cold;

we have arrived, 

a step away from being,

that you'll be ripped out of my hands, 

to lose your gaze and your warmth,

and just keep your tears.

Then dream of despair,

that vertebrae and multiply,

like an invisible virus,

that ends up drowning me into silence.

You don't understand; neither do I.

Hands, gags, lights, shackles 

and finally the bars of incomprehension.

Then come back with the rubble of hope on your back,

to lift the bloody knees,

with split dolls,

and get back on track because there's nothing left behind.

Borders

Source: own

We're already face to face,

you with your desire to lose yourself inside of me,

I with the desire to break the cold

and let me go through the rampage,

breaking invisible boundaries,

and the walls of it I don't understand.

To let you go, to get close to me,

to break coffee time,

to jump the abyss of the yes gaze, but no,

pick up the furtive rub and give him the right coat,

that grows like a wave in the sea

and it's a tidal wave I can't escape.

Dream of piercing your lips,

rescue one kiss, then another,

and so on until you conquer the mountains that shelter you, 

until I sleep over in your meadows.

At the end will follow the coffee time,

of lost glances,

of the eyes that say,

of the frictions that go and that escape,

and you'll go on.

Photograph taken with Acer Liquid Z630

Where are you?

Source: own

Where did you leave the aurora I gave you?

Where are the living stars and the dead stars

that we visited on our summer nights?

Where are the kisses stolen, delivered, forced and imagined?

Where the first caresses

and where the lascivious caresses that made you tremble?

Where is the first glance, the one that escaped among the people,

the dreamed one and the forgotten one?

Where is the first inconfessable touch, the furtive, that made me tremble?

Where is the pleasure sought, the lost and the found?

Where is the transmutable surrender that made me mad?

Where are the words that made us believe, grow, retreat and flee?

Where is the love that we give to each other without any balance?

Where are you that I no longer see you, that I don't smell you?

I know. You are in the rickety chest of my memories,

next to the forgotten photographs and the bottles full of messages that we never send, where only your absence and all the ghosts that come from ten o'clock onwards fit.

Your fire

Source: own

I'm already there and the faces are there too,

with the fire in your eyes that ended up burning me,

and almost blinded me,

for not wanting to control such intense love,

that it was an uncontrollable fire,

that I went up and razed my walls and my borders,

and that he made his way waving the flag of passion and lust.

Your fire burned me, but I didn't care;

I threw myself at it as if it were the freshest water,

and then licked my wounds in the corner of your memory,

like the wounded and beaten dog.

I came back and I knew your fire would devour me,

but I was throwing myself at your pyre,

I'd play with your flames and eat the embers of your bonfire,

until there were only your ashes left.

Now, I walk down the street and, from time to time,

I smell the smell of your fire and follow it, until I find you;

you in the center, with the flames on the ground;

They are throwing themselves to burn,

without caring about anything, just you and your fire.

You're on your way.

Source: own

You're already neglecting souls,

those that are lost through the hidden holes, 

looking for the absence of feeling,

to devour them and leave them in the desert.

You don't wait for the night, you just pick up the boxes of oblivion,

you search in them for weaknesses and mistakes,

the catches and the collections,

the guards for the uncertain future

and then you attack with nonsense weapons.

You don't care about pain, or crying, or grief,

all you care about is reaching your ultimate goal,

caresses and smiles, then throws the frozen claw,

and you comfort yourself in your lonely corner.

You've lost count. You don't care.

There you are, waiting for weakness and hopelessness,

you go out again without even thinking about it,

you follow the instinct they gave you.

since the beginning of time.

You have no remorse; it is your fate,

you just have to wait for the right moment,

you throw yourself without thinking, with your mouth open,

to take the last bite and feed your insatiable hunger.

You are not worth pursuing or even fighting,

in the end you know you'll be a winner,

that's why you're still here waiting for your next victim.

Sleep

Own source

Every day I arrived at the same time. He waited for the door to open at five o'clock in the afternoon. Don Ambrosio greeted the priest, put his index finger in the baptismal font, dipped his finger a little, made a cross in the center of his forehead and felt how the holy water cleansed his soul. Then he sat on the bench in the fifth row, to the left of the main altar.

There he remained silent, closed his eyes and fell asleep. It was the only place where he could sleep on his own. At seven o'clock he was awakened by the murmurs of the parishioners who entered the seven o'clock mass. Then he got up, approached the main altar, knelt down and left through the central corridor of the church in his neighborhood.

Already in the street he walked along the main street until it began to get dark. Then he would go to the central library of his city, take the book he was reading, go up to the top floor, look for a free corner, sit down and read there until the dream conquered him. His body had become accustomed to sleeping in that somewhat uncomfortable position, but he had to pay that price because he never liked sleeping in the street.

He woke up at five in the morning, went to the bathroom, washed his face and went back to his place to continue reading, until, at half past seven, he went out to line up in the dining room for a hot breakfast. 

Then he would wander the streets again until it was time to eat and would go to the other soup kitchen, the one near the beach. There he was allowed to eat two dishes, take a shower and wash his clothes.

At dusk he returned to the church with some hope in his pockets, which was all he had left.

Yesterday's way

Source: own

Cover me with your mantle, 

the one of silence, the one of waiting,

the one with the lie,

that one, ragged by the dust of oblivion.

I will stand still,

opening the pores to sweat,

and spit out the memories of your dead, 

their forgotten bones in the moldy corners.

I will try to get up, 

a hand resting on the soul,

and the knees in living flesh 

after going through your guilty silences.

I will look at you standing,

staggering,

looking for the right balance between soul and heart,

leaning on the staff of resignation,

seeking in your eyes the tears of forgiveness.

I will turn around, turning my back on you,

Stay! Stay!

but I'll take what couldn't have been,

and what it wasn't,

the wreckage of the shipwreck in the abyss,

the rudder aimlessly

and the letters that no one will read anymore.

Only the wake of your imprisoned memories will remain,

the photographs of smiles and sunset,

the broken and lying mirrors,

your rain through the glass

and coffee afternoons with your ghost.

Come closer

Source: own

Come over here without me noticing,

with the stealth of a panther,

and devour me until there's nothing left of me,

neither the bones nor the breath of the past.

Approach me without giving me explanations,

without asking the permission of the gods,

break the silence with your screams

and lie down next to me and sleep,

following the path of water.

Approach from the bent infinity,

from incomprehension and unconsciousness,

talk to me even if I don't understand you, 

give me your words and I'll turn them towards the universe.

Come closer and give me your warm hands,

cover me with the light of your suns 

illuminate my cave soul and

give me a second of light for my eternity.

Come closer, sit next to me, breathe with me,

feel the flow of our consciences,

close your active eyes and let yourself be carried away

to the beyond where today it's just you and me

Borders and flags

I came to your border

walking the paths of longing, 

running from bullets and bombs,

of hunger and meaninglessness,

looking for the hand of solidarity.

I looked up to contemplate 

the height of your walls of iron, steel and cement,

I brought my knee to the ground.

and picked up the pieces of hope.

Then, I hoisted the flag I have engraved on my chest,

that no one knows and no one respects,

I lifted it as high as I could,

and I moved it back and forth, 

to spill their colors near the horizon.

You didn't listen to me, you didn't see me, you just told me

the way back, 

that of discouragement and hopelessness, 

gagged and covered with barbed wire.

Sitting in front of you,

I understand your flag is a bloody bullet,

that your border is the seed of shame,

that your path is neither back nor forth,

only the path of selfishness.

Here I will be, in front of you,

dreaming of being hope,

with being a ray of sun and moon

to cross the walls of your frontiers

and make your flags invisible

Nadie te espera

Fuente: propia

Nadie te espera. Llegarás y solo estará tu sombra.
Ella llegará primero, pero solo un segundo,
y ahí estará hasta que anochezca,
luego desaparecerá,
cuando las luces del artificio 
proyecten tu imagen en las paredes de la casa,
esa casa que huele a soledad y a desesperación,
y ni siquiera los muertos y sus fantasmas te prestarán atención.

Así que siéntate, en aquel rincón,
aquel mohoso, y escribe los versos que nunca escribiste,
dile que la quisiste como a nadie,
que la locura te contaminó la cordura,
que el cansancio te pudrió el corazón,
y que la tristeza te secó el alma.

Díselo, que te arrepentiste, 
mientras las lágrimas te quemaban la cara,
y te segaban los ojos,
mientras te convertías en el primer y único escalón,
mientras te enterrabas con las fotografías del recuerdo.

Después solo es cuestión de partir,
de levantarte, de romper las puertas y las ventanas,
destruir las escaleras que nunca subiste,
de borrar los caminos que recorriste,
y reconocer que la vida siguió después de aquella noche,
aquella en que no pagaste las deudas pendientes.

When will it be?

Here I am, three meters underground,

without knowing where,

I look back and forth and find only bones.

Where are my loved ones?

No one answers me.

I never hear them.

I am only with darkness,

and with the cold humidity that's already part of my bones.

Not even the worms, who did their job

until they left me in the bones, they stayed.

Now, my bones are dyed with blood and mud.

I want to scream, but I can't

my mouth is full of dirt

and I just spit out anger, darkness and loneliness.

I can imagine that I cry,

because I can't cry;

I have the bowls of my eyes dry and full of earth,

and my tears turn to dust.

I think, but my thoughts escape me,

through the shot hole in the back of the neck,

the one who made me a coward,

I begged him to shoot me in the clear forehead,

but he couldn't handle his cowardice.

and ripped my life out of my back.

When will it be time for my bones to see the light again?

No more breathing,

no more stepping into classrooms,

no longer to feel the caress of the beloved hand,

no longer to hear the song of the bird,

no more smiling,

no longer to love,

no longer see the sunrise,

only to see the light of justice.

When will it be?

 Image source:  Own

Yesterday I had a dream

Yesterday I had a dream

and I wore it for a hat,

a wide-brimmed dream,

of those who cover you from the sun and the rain,

red, no, blue, no, green, no, black,

he finally got the color of the rainbow.

Then it became a dusty road,

full of old benches

who talked to me and invited me to sit down,

to rest because the road is long

and to remove the dust from my life.

I sat down and became the old wood of all benches and invited others to sit down.

and to remove the dust that they dragged from life.

I escaped from the wood, I spit out the nails

which turned me into a bank and I ran to the exit,

but the dusty road turned into a tumultuous sea,

and me in a drifting boat

who danced to the sound of the waves

that were the men and women who had gone through my life.

Then came the calm,

was no longer a wooden boat,

it was a grey stain of ashes on the sea

that was being diluted in the foam of the waves.

Yesterday I had a dream

and I wore it for a hat,

I was road, wood, I was bank,

I was a boat and I was ashes.

 Picture taken with an Acer Liquid Z630 mobile phone