ESCLAVA mía, témeme. Ámame.

ESCLAVA mía,
 témeme. Ámame.
 Esclava mía!
poema PABLO NERUDA.

Soy contigo el ocaso más vasto de mi cielo,
y en él despunta mi alma como una estrella fría.
Cuando de ti se alejan vuelven a mí mis pasos.
Mi propio latigazo cae sobre mi vida.
Eres lo que está dentro de mí y está lejano.
Huyendo como un coro de nieblas perseguidas.
Junto a mí, pero dónde? Lejos, lo que está lejos.
Y lo que estando lejos bajo mis pies camina.
El eco de la voz más allá del silencio.
Y lo que en mi alma crece como el musgo en las ruinas.

* IT'S ONLY ONE DOG ... POEM OF LOVE *

* IT'S ONLY ONE DOG ... POEM OF LOVE *

* Every once in a while people tell me "relax, it's just a dog" or "it's a lot of money just for a dog". *
 They do not understand the distance traveled, the time invested or the costs incurred by "just one dog". Some of my most proud moments have happened with "just one dog" ....
* Many hours have passed being my only company "only a dog", but not for a single moment I felt despised. Some of my saddest moments have been for "just a dog", and in those gray days, the soft touch of "just a dog" gave me the comfort and the reason to get through the day. ... *
* If you also think "it's just a dog", then you'll probably understand phrases like "just a friend", "just a sunrise" or "just a promise". "Only a dog" brings to my life the very essence of friendship, trust and pure and unbridled joy. "Only a dog" brings out the compassion and patience that make me a better person. ... *
* For "only a dog" I will get up early, I will make long walks and look forward to the future. So for me and for people like me, it is not "just a dog", but an embodiment of all the hopes and dreams of the future, the memories of the past, and the absolute joy of the moment. "Only a dog" brings out the good in me and diverts my thoughts away from myself and from daily worries. ... *
* I hope that some day you can understand that it is not "just a dog", but that which gives me humanity and prevents me from being "just a human". So the next time you hear the phrase "just a dog", just smile because they "just do not understand" .... *
Richard A. Biby

The tiger woman, Andrés Neuman

The tiger woman

Andrés Neuman

A Bur
He has smelled how I approached and turned around. I try to make him see that I'm not interested in her, but I've always been a corky pretending. She licks her wrists and forearms. He watches me with suspicion. He suddenly gets up, with a blow to the shoulder blades, and walks in circles around me. I would like to take advantage of your movements to take a picture or write a few lines, anything that will make me useful in this scene. Then he gets bored of besieging me and takes a few steps towards the edge. I'm going away from the page. It is restless.

          There is nothing more splendid than the apricot spots on his neck, which stretches and folds when he peeks at the flanks. I've been studying for a while and, for now, the only thing I've found out is that he sleeps in the afternoon, gets lost at night and looks out on this side only at noon, when the sun accentuates the fringes of his back and ignites his pumice stone pupils. Since the day I found her, distracted, with a fang nailed delicately on her lip, I have not stopped imagining the hunt. Who would hunt Who? Of course his mouth promises vertigo, blood, the rite of agile death. My weapon is this pen: enough at least, to succumb with dignity. That trembling of the side, of the stripes of his belly when breathing, splashes my eyes, obsesses me. His sweet roar of small waterfall chases me when I dream. On waking, however, I dream of chasing him.

          She has too much smell to be surprised on a page. It would take a novel, perhaps several, in order to entertain the hope that he would lower his guard for a moment, in the middle of a paragraph. But to do that, I would need to study it for years. After all, it's all about tricking the tiger.

          Hunger, sometimes, forces her to approach with charming dissimulation and smacking. If he has not yet attacked me, it is because, at the moment, he likes this thing that I write, or at least he likes his coquetry. For my part, I am willing to sacrifice: survival is so mediocre ... I know well that I care little, that for her I am, basically, a curious piece of meat. Although I also know that, if a couple of days passes without us seeing each other, she looks for any pretext to return and haunt my story. Even sometimes he does me the honor and decides to sharpen his nails in front of my eyes, rubbing them against a tree with an exquisite slowness. Other times I have noticed how he delayed when leaving, while drawing hypnotic waves with his spotted tail. And even more. I am sure that in her unmovable beast's lair, on clear moonlit nights, she feels alone. And that sometimes, too, makes an effort and reminds me.

JOSE L. BORGES ... ABSENCE.

JOSE L. BORGES ... ABSENCE.

I will raise the vast life
that even now is your mirror:
every morning I will have to rebuild it.
Since you walked away,
how many places have become vain
and without sense, the same
to lights in the day.
Afternoons that were niche of your image,
music that always awaited me,
words of that time,
I will have to break them with my hands.
In what hollow will I hide my soul
so I do not see your absence
that like a terrible sun, without sunset,
Does it shine final and ruthless?
Your absence surrounds me
like the rope to the throat,
the sea that sinks

** I am the tiger. ... by Pablo Nereuda **.



** I am the tiger. ... by Pablo Nereuda **.

I stalk you between the leaves
broad as ingots
of wet mineral.
The white river grows
under the fog. You arrive.
Naked you submerge.
I hope.
Then in a jump
of fire, blood, teeth,
of a blow
your chest, your hips.
I drink your blood, I break
your members one by one
And I stay watching
for years in the jungle
your bones, your ashes,
motionless, far
of hatred and anger,
disarmed in your death,
crossed by lianas,
motionless, far
of hatred and anger,
disarmed in your death,
crossed by lianas,
motionless in the rain,
implacable sentinel
of my killer love.

If you forget me ... from Pablo Neruda *. (a beautiful poem)

If you forget me ... from Pablo Neruda *.

 (a beautiful poem)

I want you to know one thing.
You know how is this:
If I look at the crystal moon, the red branch
of the slow autumn in my window,
if I touch the impalpable ash by the fire
or the wrinkled body of the wood,
everything brings me to you, as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals, were small boats that sail
to the islands of yours that await me.
Now, if little by little you stop loving me
I will stop loving you little by little.
If suddenly you forget me do not look for me,
that I will have forgotten you.
If you consider long and crazy
the wind of flags that goes through my life
and you decide to leave me at the shore
of the heart in which I have roots,
think that on that day,
at that time I will raise my arms
and my roots will go to find another land.
But if every day,
every hour you feel that you are destined to me
with implacable sweetness.
If every day goes up
a flower to your lips to look for me,
Oh my love, oh my,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love is nourished by your love, beloved,
and as long as you live, it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.
Sometimes, you find that person that turns your heart over, that brings out emotions that you thought was impossible to feel. Your life changes completely, and your life becomes the life of that person you love with madness, with real madness. You know that if that person comes back, you will feel the same again, but it is not like that and you must accept it

QUE SI CREO EN EL AMOR A PRIMERA VISTA? SI...

UN PEQUEÑO HOMENAJE, 

A QUIENES NOS AMAN INCODICIONALMENTE

QUE SI CREO EN EL AMOR A PRIMERA VISTA?  SI...

UN AMIGO QUE TE ACOMPAÑA



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