Letters for a Poem

In my woodiness shape I wish to express,
Words from an eccentric language or two,
Merged together in a highly new fashion,
Entirely displayed, wondered by admirers,
Whilst critics shove me into ‘lost property’.

Waiting for some time for you to return,
Remembering our previous rapid sessions,
The tickling of deep smooth coloured tips,
The poking of shallow rough black squares,
Now arriving before me with another relic.

Bias and morality should never be judged,
Rather, I am just an innocent piece of art,
Creative symbols reflecting endless value,
Producing a magnificent meaningful me,
Presented to audiences by a foreign entity.

Monday, 21st of September 2009

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El Pasado Anónimo

Cuando paro delante de esta puerta enorme,
El pasado mantiene la caza de mí, pero no ahora,
No si entro en este lugar donde puedo cantar,
Cantar a mi pasado en el tono que lo prohíbe.

Cuando ando por este jardín infinito,
Oliendo las hojas del otoño que se caen,
Oyendo el viento bailando entre les,
Observé otro alma entrando mi dimensión.

Cuando corro hacia la niebla de la noche interminable,
Siguiente mi deseo de abrazar a su figura delgada,
Una ilusión reforzó por un abismo oscuro vacío,
Perdiendo mi futuro y la caza empieza otra vez.

Miércoles, 02 de septiembre de 2009

The Welcoming Person

It was then that I accepted its presence,
Seizing my right hand pulling it forward,
It felt cold at first with sparks of scariness,
Except, warmth began its novel exploration.

It kept emotionless, silent, hardly any motion,
Whilst walking towards a known destination,
I felt the urge in knowing the person I follow,
The urge to start a new friendship, a new era.

There I spoke to the form in front of me,
With a continuous, slow but steady pace,
The silence broke into several black ravens,
All landing gently on the shoulders of it.

It was then that I rejected its opposite,
Finishing the last lines of a history book,
Pleased as I flick its pages then I close,
Entering the place, breathe my last breath.

The Anonymous Past

As I stop in front of this enormous gate,
The past keeps hunting me, but not now,
Not if I enter this place where I can sing,
Sing to my past in the tone that it forbids.

As I walk through this infinite garden,
Smelling the falling autumn leaves,
Hearing the wind dancing between them,
I observed another soul entering my dimension.

As I run towards the endless night’s mist,
Following my desire to hug her thin figure,
An illusion reinforced by a dark empty abyss,
Losing my future and the hunting starts again.