I lost it. It came to be like a pen,
filled with ink, ready to imprint,
on paper, the ideas, the thoughts,
that now, I have lost.

And now, that I think about it,
it wasn't but a pen on my hand,
It was but the ability
to get lost in this pen,
to wander in thoughts,
to never find that I got lost
and while I got lost
that I would also lose part of my mind.

Yes, I lost the sense of what it is true,
I lost the sense of what it is the essence of life,
I lost the purpose of what is to live
I lost it

I thought that by writing, I would find
what I yearned to find,
And I wrote and I found what I thought
I wanted to find,


but ultimately,

I found nothing.

I only found out,
that life goes on...
and that life
kept going without me.

I wanted to be,
just to be...

and I was.

But I was
not what I wanted to be;
a little bee,
buzz and buzz,
flying,
in search of a flower,
with the nectar,
with the saccharine sweetness
of a kiss,
that'll help me make honey,
sweet honey,
out of this life,

I live.

But instead,
I was the flower,
with colorful petals,
in a garden full with trees,
that blossom in happiness
and eventually,
was found
by a bee

Oh come forth, speak to me my Lord,
I need to hear your words,
For them to guide me to you world.
I need to hear your voice,
For me to follow you, my lord.

I'm just a woman dressed in shame.
Undress me, lord.
See my nakedness with innocence,
And cloth me, lord.
Enwrap me in your mantle of love.

If you are going to do anything
Do it without regrets
Don't think about it twice
But if you do, then don't do anything.

What if in our brains lays the answers to our every question?
And poetry... is the method that we can use to Find them?

Let's say our brain is a big maze in which our answers are scattered throughout.
And the only way to get them, it's to find the path that leads to them.

Let's say that every activity that each of us does, creates a new path within the maze...
Then poetry is the activity that could open and create different paths in our brains that could trigger the finding of new answers.


April 30. Ramblings.

Sweet nothing, there's nobody,
Just a hollow vague and vast void
An eternal wound opening up
Bleeding out pain,
And not leaving a time to form a scar
Right here, in this chest

Sweet nothing, that's how my eyes look,
Like staring into oblivion,
lost, gazing into a wall, a concrete block,
That blocks the streets where people pass by,
Brick by brick, building up dreams,
Blocking out reality,
Forming a facade of fantasies,
where light is visible only by climbing these dreams,
And I lost the strenght,
I feel tired, gazing into a wall,
like staring into oblivion, forgetting how it feels to see,
beyind this wall

Quizas mi lengua se acostumbro
a el silencio,
que ha dejado de formular palabras,
tal vez,
mis labios se acostumbraron a los tuyos,
Pero en cuanto el silence se quedo callado
Fue cuando mas hablamos