martes, 3 de septiembre de 2013

Story of remoteness, 6.




The definitive moment



A faint calyx, Poetry
is the receptacle that collects the best of my spirit,
the frugal elixir wherein I fall once and once again
when the night torments me
and I fail to find the bravery to wade into my destiny.
But to live in this cover of clouds, plunging
in the fervent youth of an animal that lives inside,
it is also a sweet love of weaned tenderness,
a childish promise of branches and green leaves
musically succeeding itself in the indelible memory of a romance.

And the greater audacity, a kiss
or the unconscious crushing of a Spring flower.
The enigmatic beauty of a lonely man in the city
claiming the jungle, roaring, scratching,
returning to his primal form,
the old sea of strings and winds and rocks and pink sadness.
The soul, a warm calyx, gathering harmony within its womb,
the unbiased presence of a loving figure
whose body becomes one silhouette with the horizon.
Each day, every second, living peacefully with the beast
deserves to be dignified with an immense symphony
in which all the good things are collected to form the elixir of a sweet life,
of pure love, that does not ponder,
of the eternal bonhomie of the artist who returns to his natural form.
The legend, the insignificant myth that draws and unites everything,
the unfinished thoughts of a lonely passion flooding the city
and flowing to the jungle.
Only beauty feels the true need to give,
To emulate the holy mother when proud
she never proclaims to her children the pain inflicted without apparent cause.

Owls sing,
nocturnal animals like Poetry,
savages hunger for certainties such as the moon,
such as the flesh, the soul and the stone.
A singular promise never described,
In conjunction with a world that is not of shadow
but the lover’s fidelity
that slowly withdraws quiet to face his conviction.
To love symphonically, a calyx of temperance,
to flatter the untainted parity of the last shining pearl,
the last sunsets before the madness,
where men and beasts come to sip at the same pond,
the musical breach
opened between one soul and another, desperate.
Long is the road that leads us to total regress,
to the definitive moment,
but intensely rich, full, fair.
To return to life is always a noble act.
And so the nights, with their silver velum, return.
And with it, the doubts.





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