Life Delicioso

The end might be around the corner, but never close enough to stop him from missing, remembering, loving, and imagining constantly. His nostalgia so strong and almost permanent, he misses everyone. He remembers everyone... With every name that he calls, dead or alive, there is a tale... Once there was a childhood, an adulthood, genuine one in fact... Humane enough to be missed. His mind hasn't completely stopped recording, but new events aren't important anymore. Sometimes when I sit besides him, he asks me if my kids are doing good... I don't have kids, I tell him... then he gives me an embarrassed smile, or cracks a joke if he is in a good mood..., his jokes are witty.
He hates family reunions, he hates having to say goodbye one by one, it leaves him empty and sick... First time I saw him cry was in one of those damn reunions. Not too long ago. No! He was sobbing... He still sends imaginary money to relatives, to places that existed once, before an earthquake, a revolution, a war, or just an industrialization project. So I like to see him alot... as much as I can... he reminds me of how late I am, everytime, and how he has been waiting.... The only time I hear him complain. His life so full and so empty at the same time... Not for anybody to say that is time for him to stop... for his current existence is all he desires...then there will be nothing... Death is death... with nothing beyond it... Not necessarily scared, just not done yet.

Hipocresía Expreso

Disgust took over rage,
silence took over a lumpy throat,
paranoia took over the conscience,
Melancholy took over the World.

Consumed by absurdities,
loved by pities,
injected with obligations,
frightened by nostalgia.

Forced to cease,
drugged to persist,
promised to be deluded so impeccably.
While time exhausted the body,
and routines dulled the head.

Under layers of filth,
still remaines
an untouched state.

Death of a Fishvane

If it wasn't an absolute stillness...!?

Deluded by the wind, the Fishvane was convinced of flying

While the very existence of the stick denied it.
Gravity pulling, while the passing by breeze promised the moment of departure.

Mesmerized by the wind's sweet words,

Fishvane couldn't hear the earth whispering,

_"You are only a fool dreamer, selling your soul to the seductive sky, in return of a moment away from me! Me! The generous Earth"!

Furious by the Fishvane's betrayal,

The earth pulled on the stick violently,

and swallowed in the Fishvane.

The wind stopped blowing for a moment... sorrow heavier than the air.

Autotomy

In danger, the holothurian cuts itself in two.

It abandons one self to a hungry world

and with the other self it flees.

It violently divides into doom and salvation,

retribution and reward, what has been and what will be.

An abyss appears in the middle of its body

between what instantly become two foreign shores.

Life on one shore, death on the other.

Here hope and there despair.

If there are scales, the pans don't move.

If there is justice, this is it.

To die just as required, without excess.

To grow back just what's needed from what's left.

We, too, can divide ourselves, it's true.

But only into flesh and a broken whisper.

Into flesh and poetry.

The throat on one side, laughter on the other,

quiet, quickly dying out.

Here the heavy heart, there non omnis moriar

just three little words, like a flight's three feathers.

The abyss doesn't divide us.

The abyss surrounds us.

The dried veins of Morality

Sometimes an object has to be broken into tiny pieces, in order for its deformity to be taken away...Its uselessness and impracticality to be stopped immediately. Obsessively re-attached pieces are made to become one unit and serve a common purpose, as determined by the creator. Its physical being no longer could be ignored.

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So I ask her, why are you here?...It could be a question just echoing in my mind... And no! there was never any sound because my lips never moved to free the words into the silenced air... As she suffers in her own special ways and as lines appears on her face for every suffering day by day, I wonder if it wasn't one wrong notion that dragged her into this! Sobbing in every corner of the room, she begs me to feel, to snap out of the numbness... So I try, and I fail everytime, for it's been too long and too cold... And survival has its own price! My own version of living. She is determined to believe that the alien she is seeing everyday, is a deprived soul...The creature must be connected to the feeding tubes of morality in order to recover. As human as I ever felt, I pull the plugs stubbornly.
Finally, her sobbing turn into an innocent, soundless sleep.

Avoided awareness!

Unexpected incidents never to be expected,
When so busy waiting for things to happen, intensely...
As nothing works the way one wishes for,
it disappoints and frustrates, but it also fades....
Then, forgotten as an old mid-summer day dream,
it existence hardly even counts...
an insect coming out of dark,
expected to be respectfully welcomed...
and wishfully taken back...
unaware, being under curse of complete unawareness,
Unaware as Oedipus.
Not deserving pity, not deserving the second chance,
Swallowed by time, to be digesting regrets.

Fallen

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